


Soul Patrol

by lifelesslyndsey



Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Ghost Hunters, M/M, Paranormal Invesegators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:59:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 45,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifelesslyndsey/pseuds/lifelesslyndsey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared's got problems, and a ghost is one of them. But not just any ghost. A very, very friendly one, who just so happens to think Jared is his long lost lover. Cue Misha, the friendly neighborhood psychic medium, who operates his business, Soul Patrol, out of a utility closet in the back of a porn shop. Where he also happens to lives. He likes to work from home, okay? Jared had no idea what he was in for when he stepped into Parlor, looking for help.</p><p> One thing is for sure though; it wasn't soul fisting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

In vain, Jared tried not to feel uncomfortable standing where he was, at the counter of Parlor.  Even at twenty-six, he didn't particularly feel old enough to be frequenting sex shops. His mother would have an ever-loving coronary, should she find out.

 

He took a fortifying breath, and reminded himself that this wasn't small-town Texas. Here, there was no chance of his neighbor's sister's second-cousin's baby-sitters hairdresser running into his mother at the grocery store and asking what a nice boy like Jared was doing in a place like this. Walcot Row was a metropolitan suburb tucked quietly away just outside of LA; Jared was pretty sure there were about as many head-shops as their were Starbucks.

 

“Well hello there, sugar.” The man behind the counter looked up from his magazine (porn), and eyed Jared for far longer than social necessities dictated. He smirked when Jared squirmed beneath the scrutiny, making the shiny metal stud beneath his lip glimmer in the lowlight of the shop. “What can I help you with?”

 

“Uh, yeah. I'm looking for...” He glanced back down at the crinkled paper in his hand, and back up at the guy. “Misha Collins? Is that you?”

 

The guy managed to look almost wistful and insulted all at once. “Never thought the day would come when I'd be wishing I was Misha. He's in the back. One door left of the crapper.”

 

Jared weaved through the shelves of neon colored dildos and tried to ignore the sensation that someone was looking at his ass. There was only one door left of the bathroom, and he knocked tentatively, half wishing no one would answer, so he could leave feeling like he honestly tried.

 

Unfortunately, the door sprang open suddenly, nearly smacking him in the face. What he found behind it was a sleepy looking man in a very cramped utility closet. The irony of that would creep up on him later, but for now, it was just surprising. “Uh...are you Misha?”

 

“In the flesh. One moment,” Misha said, lifting a finger. He scooted to the edge of what Jared only realized was a bed, and pulled a board down from the wall. Next, he flipped a switch, illuminating a neon orange sign proclaiming SOUL PATROL nailed to the shelf behind him. “One more second, just gotta set up the office.” A box was upturned on the board, which seemed to stand in as some sort of Murphy-desk, and Misha used his moment to strategically place a pencil cup, nameplate, and note pad across it. “Annnnd, done. Hi, I'm Misha Collins, founder, CEO, manager and sole-employee of Soul Patrol, here to service all your....paranormal needs. What can I do for you?”

 

“Do you live in here?” Jared hadn't meant to ask; it seemed rude, and his mother raised him better than that. But it was hard to ignore the contents of the closet; the bed, the shelves of stuff (clothes, toiletries, knick-knacks, and stuff Jared couldn't name) and most importantly, Misha himself. There were photos tacked up of Misha and the guy from the front desk, along with an array of other people. It certainly looked homey....for a utility closet.

 

Misha didn't look insulted. He just smiled. “I like working from home. So, what brings you in? Past-life hypnosis? Palm-reading? Soul-fisting? Ghost problem?” The last is said with such a conspiratorial, knowing tone that Jared feels himself blush. What if this Misha guy was the real deal? What if he knew what Jared's problem was?

  
Also, soul-fisting?  


The idea that this Misha guy did know what Jared's problem made him want to turn tail and run. “Uh..I don't...maybe---”

 

“Heh. I have no idea what has you making that face, but I like it. Relax. Most people come here because of ghosts, so it's an easy assumption. Pull up a chair.” Misha pointed to the left of the door, where a red plastic lawn chair was lined up against the wall. “Tell Misha all about your ghostly woe.”

 

Perched on the edge of the chair, Jared frowned. “I'm not...I'm still having a hard time believing, you know? I've lived in my house for a while now, and I've never had any problems. But recently, well... little things started to happen....” He paused, unwilling to divulge any details to a stranger he wasn’t sure wouldn’t mock him. This man had come recommended by Chad, after all. Their was crazy and then there was craaaazy. “But it's sort of starting to escalate, and I don’t know what to do. My friend Chad Murray, he gave me your number---”

 

“Ah Chad.” Misha leaned back into his seat, and smiled. “I'm flattered he's spreading the good word of Soul Patrol, but he's never actually enlisted my services.”

 

“No?” Then why would Chad----”

 

“He comes here for the other part of the store.” Misha looked over Jared's shoulder pointedly. “I run into him from time to time. We've spoken. I get the impression he comes here to score chicks or spread herpes. Or both. He seems like he’d be into multitasking.”

 

Jared winced, and then sighed. That sounded like Chad. “Let me guess; he thinks just because a girl is desperate enough to buy toys, they're probably pretty easy?”

 

Misha laughed, bright and happy. “Nail on the head, my friend. Though I've got to tell you, it hasn't worked out so well. He has a terrible habit of hitting on the lesbians. Even, on occasion, partnered lesbians. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he's doing it on purpose.”

 

“He probably is.” Jared was mostly immune to the shame admitting he was friends with Chad use to bring. Mostly. “Somewhere along the line, Chad got it in his head that lesbians are only lesbians because they haven't slept with The Chad. He gets beat up by women a lot.”

  
Misha snorted. “Yeah, I saw a girl pistol-whip him with a ten inch dildo like two weeks ago.”  


“That would explain the black-eye. And why he told me he got it at a cock-fight. He's not really safe for public interaction.” He felt himself instantly blush at the word cock and couldn't help but momentarily resent his sheltered Christian upbringing. “Anyway, can you help me?”

 

“Well, you haven't given me much to go on,” Misha said, but he didn't press. “The best course of action would be for me to come check your place out. Get a feel for the energy. There are a lot of different kinds of hauntings, you know? Residual, interactive, malevolent. This thing mean? Are you in danger?”

 

Jared might have thought he was being mocked, but Misha looked totally earnest. “No, no. It's uh...it's interactive though. Friendly.”

 

“Well that's always good,” Misha noted, scribbling on his notepad. “What's your goal, with Soul Patrol? Do you want to make contact, or exorcise it, or what?”

 

“Uh...well, I'm not really comfortable with it hanging around,” Jared admitted It wasn't so much the hanging around that bothered Jared. If the ghost would just chill...well, it was there first. Jared could be cool. He could deal. But as it were, the ghost was really very...active.“So exorcise it, I guess.”

 

“Good. Great. Good. Now we just schedule a time that works for you, and I'll swing by, and scope out your house. Is the entity particularly active at any specific point of the day?”

  
“Night.” There was no question. “Anywhere from midnight to three. Sometimes it wakes me up around six, but usually only on days I have to work. It's like it knows.”  


Misha made a thoughtful noise. “Active and cognizant. Awesome. Alright, next question; has it made contact with you?”

 

Oh God, if he blushed any harder, his head would pop like an overfilled water balloon. “Um. Yes. That's actually the problem.”

 

Silent for a moment as he scrawled across the notebook, Misha frowned. “But it's not violent? Doesn't pull your hair, pinch you or leave marks? It's never attacked you in anyway?”

 

“Um.” Well...Jared didn't think there was anything particularly violent about the ghost, but... “It's not violent but...but....” But it did pull hair and leave marks. “It’s tactile, I guess.”

 

“I won't judge.” Misha gave him a disarming smile, blue eyes bright and staring right through him. “You can tell me anything, and I'll believe you. You don't need to worry.”

 

“Well,” he said again, still fumbling for words. He was pretty sure he couldn't actually say what was going on, what had driven him out in search for help. Instead, Jared unbuttoned the top two buttons of his plaid shirt, and tugged the collar down, exposing a deep purple hickey low on his throat. “It's not violent,” he said again, helplessly.

 

Misha's brows lifted in surprise. “Oh, well. Looks like you've got yourself a Casper.”

 

“A what now?”

 

Smirking, Misha snapped his notebook closed. “A friendly ghost.”

  
Yeah. Friendly. “What do you charge, anyway?” He asked, unwilling to talk about just how friendly his Caspar got.

 

“Exorcisms are free. It's a humanitarian service, after all. I wouldn't feel right charging. But you can feed me dinner.” He paused, grinning. “And breakfast in the morning.”

  
“What?” Oh God. Jared wasn't sure he could handle a real live human guy hitting on him. He hadn't even been able to bring himself to admit he was pretty sure the ghost was a dude.  


“Relax. I just meant I'm gonna have to crash at your place, if most the activity happens at night. It's not uncommon. Nine to three is what we in the paranormal business call the Witching hours. Best time for a ghost ho-down.”

  
“He’s mostly active in the mornings. Some night stuff though, I guess. ” Jared paused, frowning. “I work as a personal trainer down at Wesson’s Gym, on Fifth and Parks, so I'm free in the evenings. Whenever is good for you, man.”  


“My schedule is surprisingly clear.” Misha smiled pleasantly, and slid a business card across the little desk. “How's tomorrow evening sound? That good for you? Why don't you write your address down there, and I'll see you at...hmm, say seven?”

 

Jared plucked a pen from the cup, and did as he was told. “Is there anything I need to do? Or have ready?”

 

“Nope, you just let me take care of everything. It's best to just go about your regular activity.” Misha snatched the business card back before Jared was even began writing his street name. He tossed it over his shoulder to the floor shamelessly, without a single glance. “Nice neighborhood, I bet your dogs loves it.

 

“Wait a second, I didn't tell you---”

 

Misha shook his head, still grinning. “I'll see you tomorrow night, Jared.”

  
Misha flopped back on his bed, and only a moment later, he was snoring. Jared took that as his cue to leave.  


He hadn't said anything about a dog.

 

'I'll see you tomorrow night, Jared.'

 

He also hadn't told Misha his name.

 

**

* *

Jared bought the little house for a song, over a year ago; a dilapidated two-story in a fantastic neighborhood. There had been a fire, so he was told, and it was apparent from the slapdash construction he found. The damage was limited to the laundry room on the first floor, with some minimal smoke damage to the upstairs.  An electrical thing, as these things often went. The realtor had been quick to assure Jared that the wiring had been one of the things to be updated fully, before the house went on the market.

 

He still had a contractor come and check the wiring, and that the frame was firm, and the foundation solid. Most of the damage was cosmetic and had nothing to do with the fire, but no one seemed to find it worth it effort. Ten years it sat uninhabited, three of which it had been on the market. Personally, Jared found it perfect the moment he saw it; two stories of brick and ivy, with a big back yard, and lots of tall, shady trees.

 

Of course, he could understand why someone might find it ominous, or gloomy. The windows had been boarded up, their old lead panes cracked and shattered. The inside of the house wasn't so bad, except where the fire had burned the hottest. Jared had put his main focus on replacing the windows, exchanging the ancient, musty carpet for wooden floors, and building a new wall between the dining room and living room. He even converted half the sunroom into a laundry closet.

 

His neighbors seemed to breath a collective sigh of relief when they saw his intentions to fix it up. He was no contractor by any means, but through the collaborative help of Google-fu and many, many library trips, Jared worked his way through the basics.

 

It was when he finally brought himself to tackle the master bedroom, that Jared ran into problems. Or rather, when he was finished. The past year had been spent sleeping down-stairs in the narrow guest bedroom on a pathetic twin bed. The upstairs room was wide, with a little balcony that overlooked the back yard. It was nowhere near perfection -the roof leaked, the pipes creaked, there living room was drafty as fuck- but he made it livable. The rest would come with time. Jared was looking forward to it.

 

“Hey jerk!” Jared called down, shoving his nightstand in the corner. He'd rearrange tomorrow. “Bring up that last box. I want to get my clothes sorted before I crash.”

 

Chad appeared at the top of the stairs, box in hand. “Sure thing, princess. Seriously, could you have picked a gayer color?”

 

“It's Slate. It's manly and deep.” In truth, the color was called Vintage, and had, on paper, promised to be a deep gray. It reminded Jared of a sand-smooth river rock

, and really, that had been what sold him. Plus, it hid where the primer hadn't quite covered the soot stains. Unfortunately, he painted the room in the evening, and couldn't have known what the sun would do to it until it was to late.

 

Chad gave him a flat look, and upturned the box of carefully folded shirts onto the bed. “It's purple, dude.”

 

“Slate,” Jared said firmly, even though the room was undeniably purple. He didn't want to admit it to Chad, but he still liked the color. Gathering up a pile of shirts, he carried them to the closet, while Chad continued to bitch about his non-hetero paint choice. Jared didn't care; he was solid enough in his sexuality that he could totally rock a purple room. Much like he rocked the pink shirts he was currently hanging. “Shut up and hand me that box with the shoes.”

 

Chad did so, but not before hurling one of Jared's super-sized sneakers at him first. Being that it was Chad, he of the horrible aim, it missed Jared by a solid foot. He laughed, stooping low to gather the shoe from where it had landed in the back of the closet, and that was when something glinted from beneath a gap in the floorboards.

 

“What the hell is that?” He asked aloud, cutting Chad off. “Hey, hand me the hammer; it's on the dresser.”

 

Chad handed it over, and peered down at the gap from Jared's shoulder. “Dude, don't mess with it. It's probably like, a rat nest or something. They like shiny shit, right? Or what if Sauron left the One Ring to lure you to the Dark Side? I mean, what if you go all Gollum and then like, force choke me?”

 

“I don't have rats and this isn't Lord of the Rings or Starwars,” Jared scowled, prying the board back. “And you realize you just made yourself my wife in that scenario, right?” It gave with a wheeze and an explosion of dust.

 

“Yeah well, no homo.” Chad shrugged. “Maybe it's a body, like in that story where that one dude hacks up that other dude, and hides the body. But then like, it's heart keeps beating and dude goes bat shit crazy or something?”

 

Jared ignored Chad's terrible interpretation of Poe, and dropped to a crouch. His hand faltered, as he reached toward the opening. He didn't have rats, he was mostly sure. But...

 

Chad grabbed his shoulders suddenly, and screeched in his ear. “Rah!”

 

Shrieking in surprise (not terror), Jared wasn't even sorry when he smacked Chad hard in the gut as he flailed (also in surprise). “Dude!” He said, heart pounding. “Don't do that shit.”

 

“You should have seen your face,” Chad snickered, perpetually unrepentant. “You screamed like a girl!”

 

Jared thought it was sort of a karmic-beauty when Harley and Sadie came barreling into the room, knocking Chad flat on his ass. If Jared screamed like a girl, Chad really wasn't much better.

 

“Call off your mutts!” Harley darted forward as Chad spoke, using the opportunity to investigate what Chad had been eating for lunch. Either that or he was trying to French kiss him. Jared wasn't all worried about the details.

 

He turned back gaping hole in the floor, and plucked the shiny thing from the shallow depths. “Hey, it is a ring.” It was grimy, soot-stained and coated in questionably sticky dust, but beneath that, it was just a plain silver, or maybe pewter band.

 

“Don't put it on!” Chad cried out, just before Sadie stomped on his ball sack. “Seriously dude---”

 

Never one to listen to Chad, Jared put it on, half expecting something horrible to happen. Chad stared at him in silence for a moment, as Sadie tried to nose at his crotch. “Huh. Well, that was anticlimactic.”

 

Jared threw another shoe at him.

 

**

As so many things do, it started small. Jared would step into the kitchen in the morning to find the coffee pot on. At first, he panicked, chastising himself for keeping it on all day and night. But when it happened again, when he was sure he had turned it off and unplugged it, he couldn't help but pause. But it was just one little thing, and Jared had no difficulty putting it out of his mind.

 

But there was only so much he could put out of his mind. Some days he'd find his car keys on the kitchen counter where he'd never leave them (though maybe he should have, as he always seemed to be misplacing them). Or the twisty-tie would be replaced on the bread (again, something Jared couldn't be bothered to do himself). He'd once even found all his canned goods rearranged by expiration date.

 

“Quit messing with my shit,” he'd told Chad the next time he'd seen him. Chad, having no idea what it was Jared was talking about, and having been prone to messing with Jared's shit, had only grinned. That had been that.

 

Until, it wasn't.

 

The first thing that tipped Jared's scale from well that's odd to what the fuck is happening, was the bathroom mirror. That particular morning hadn't been any different than any other, really. Jared woke up, tripped over the dogs, and walked into the dresser because he was still getting use to the new room. Pretty typical Monday, all things told.

 

He'd headed for the shower first thing, shucking his clothes and dumping them directly into the hamper (his mother drilled it into him that if they didn't go directly into the hamper, they'd end up living on the floor for God knows how long, and she didn't raise a filthy heathen). The water was scalding, even if the water pressure left something to be desired (he'd get to it eventually). All in all, it was a typically lack-luster shower.

 

He'd just toweled himself off, and stepped out onto the bathmat, when he saw it; a fairly realistic rendering of a dick and balls, artfully doodled in the condensation on the mirror. His knee-jerk reaction was to blame Chad, but that couldn't be right. Chad was in Santa Monica, suffering beneath the tortuous and judgmental glare of his girlfriend’s father. He wasn't due back for another two days.

 

Chad or no Chad, the dick was there, in all it's veiny-detailed glory. Chills raced up his spine; if anyone had come into his house, the dogs would have let him know. Hell, they let him know if the mailman was dropping of a package two doors down. Jared raced out of his bathroom like his ass was on fire, wearing nothing but his birthday suit. What the actual fuck?

 

And then things got really weird.

 

 

**

**

Jared wasn't nervous. Really, he wasn't. He always cleaned obsessive compulsively on Tuesday mornings. It was a thing. Everyone should bleach the top of their refrigerator regularly. He was sure he read that somewhere.

 

Chad eyed him from the door, absently scratching at Harley's head. “Did you murder someone or are you like, expecting a lady friend?”

 

“What?” Jared pushed the sweat-damp hair from his eyes and frowned. The chair he was standing on as he cleared the dead ladybugs from inside of his light fixtures, creaked ominously beneath his weight. “How do you even draw these conclusions?”

 

Striding across the small kitchen, Chad took the sponge out of Jared's hand, and tossed it into the sink. “You're cleaning your light fixtures, dude. Those should not even be acknowledged unless your mother is coming over. No one even looks at them.”

 

“There were dead things in them” Jared rationalized, climbing down from the chair. “They were filled with the skeletal remains of once living things. The only dead things I want in my kitchen are things I am going to potentially eat. And unless the apocalypse comes early and I have to pull a Bear Grylliss, I'm not eating bugs.”

 

Chad reached up and plucked a crispy, yellowing lady-bug from Jared's hair, and flicked it on the ground. Jared didn't suppress the flinch that followed; he'd just swept. “Which is it? Murder? Mother? Mmmm...Whatever, I can't think of an 'm' word for booty-call.”

 

“Neither, you raging douche-basket.” Jared shifted awkwardly, carrying the chair back to the dining table. “That dude, that one you suggested, he's coming bye tonight to check out...you know, for weird shit. I realized he's the first person I've had over other then you. And I mean, it's not like you have standards, so I figured I needed to clean.”

 

Chad gave him a long, squinty look. The kind that Jared had learned to be wary of. “That dude lives in a closet. His standards can't be much better than mine.”

 

“Any standards are better than yours,” Jared snorted, kicking the corner of the rug in the dining room until it laid right. “I don't know. I mean, how invasive is his inspection going to be?”

 

Chad shrugged, and followed Jared into the living room. “I'm not sure, actually. I mean, I've only ever seen him doing his mojo brain-fucking thing.”

 

“Mojo brain-fucking.” Jared was pretty sure Misha hadn’t listed that when offering his skills. He wasn't even sure what that meant in Chad-Translation. Or Chadinese, as Chad liked to call it, but Jared wasn't an uber dickbag, so he refrained.

 

“Yeah!” Chad exclaimed, throwing his hands up as he tosses his feet onto the coffee table. “Dude is psychic. Like, full on John Edwards psychic.”

 

Jared had certainly got that impression, but then...that shit wasn't real, was it? “I don't know...”

 

Chad gave him an incredulous look, an expression that didn't grace his face often. “Are you fucking kidding me Jared? You have an extraterrestrial hickey the size of a silver dollar, and you don't believe in psychics?”

 

“Extraterrestrial is aliens; you're thinking paranormal.” Jared rubbed at the hickey nervously. He hadn't told Chad about the other one, on the off chance Chad would want to see it. Jared had a very strict rule about keeping his clothes on around Chad. Given the shit Chad had got him into, it was best to never be caught with his pants down. “Get your feet off my coffee table.”

 

“Sigourney Weaver was hot in Aliens. And hey, I'm using coasters.” He shuffled his heels, scooting the cork-board coasters Mac had made him when he first moved in across the glass top of the table.

 

Jared punched him hard in the shin. “Don't you have a shift at Weston today?” Chad was a lifeguard, or rather he was still a lifeguard. He and Jared had met working at Weston together four years prior. Unlike Jared, Chad hadn't exactly worked up the corporate ladder. But, as it was, Chad didn't mind. He got to stare at bikini clad women all day and could justify it as his job. Yeah, Chad was pretty much in heaven.

 

Checking his watch, Chad pushed up from the couch. “I do indeed. And hey dude, chill about this Misha guy, okay? I know you, and you're totally freaking out, but dude is good people, and you're good people. So really, no reason to freak big guy.”

 

“It feels weird,” Jared groaned, walking Chad to the door. “I am legitimately inviting a guy to come in my house and check under my bed for boogie-men.”

 

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

  
  


~

****

It was early yet, only three or so, when Jared finally admitted there wasn't anything left to clean. Slapping this thighs, he whistled for the dogs and headed upstairs. Couldn't hurt to catch a nap, he figured. If Misha was going to be up and bumping around his house, there was no way Jared was going to be able to sleep.

****

He kicked off his shoes, and dropped down on the covers, scooting over just in time to make room for Harley and Sadie respectively. His sudden bout of OCD-like cleaning had really taken it out of him; he fell asleep almost instantly.

  
  


Jared dreamed about blow jobs. He could feel the cold-hot press of hands on his thighs, and the almost-wet feeling of a mouth moving across his stomach. Alexis liked to kiss his stomach like that, she had a thing for biting his hip bones, nails scraping down his abs. Her mouth had always been a bit too small, but she'd always done her best to make up for it with her hands. He could feel the tingling rush race beneath his skin, heart beating in his chest. He arched up, hands curling weakly into the comforter. The muscles of his thighs jumped at the phantom scrape of nails against the sensitive skin there.

****

The doorbell rang, jerking him from his dream, but the phantom sensation didn't end. Jared looked down to find his pants undone, dick straining to escape through the thin cotton of his boxers. His shirt was hiked up, revealing thin lines of red scored across his chest, fading slowly to pink.

****

And a new hickey, right there on his left hip-bone.

****

Jared was up and out of his bed in half a second flat, slamming into the door frame before stumbling down the stairs. He jumped when the doorbell rang again, but didn't think anything of it as he yanked door open.

****

“Uh...did I interrupt something?”

****

Jared looked down, and blushed. His shirt was down, but so was his fly. His boner, unfortunately, had yet to abate. “Uh...yes. The uh...the...in my sleep...then the door bell woke me up and---.”

****

Misha pushed past him without a word. “Third door on the right, yeah?” He called out, already upstairs. Jared followed behind him, hastily doing up his jeans.

****

“Uh, yeah. How did you---”

****

But Misha was already gone, flying up the stairs. Jared found him sprawled out on his bed like a starfish, limbs akimbo, and eyes shut. “Shh,” he hushed Jared, peeking at him with half open eye. “I'm feeling for energy.”

****

“I'll just go make dinner then.” Jared stared at him for another long moment, before turning sharply, and heading for the kitchen. He didn't really want to be in his bedroom at the moment anyway.

****

He hadn't given dinner much thought, but in retrospect he should have asked about food allergies or something. He wasn't use to cooking for people who weren't Chad, and Chad could eat anything. But really, if Misha had allergies, surely he would have told Jared? Still, it couldn't hurt to avoid anything with shellfish and peanuts. Not that doing so was much of a hardship in the end.

****

Jared closed his refrigerator door, and ordered pizza.

 

Misha came down twenty minutes later with a grin on his face, and a quite obvious boner. “No activity to speak of, but you've got some seriously happy energy in your room. Good for you.”

****

“I'm not...I don't...I mean, I don't do anything---” And dear God, could someone just shut him up now. “It's just my room.”

****

Misha nodded thoughtfully. “But it wasn't always your room. This house has history; I can feel it. The memories are starting to weave together. You've been here for about a year, yeah?”

****

He couldn't remember if he told Misha that or not, but decided not to dwell on it. “How does that work?” Curiosity had always gotten the better of Jared. He wasn't necessarily a skeptic, but he did always have questions. “What are you feeling?

 

Misha didn't seem offended by his inquisitiveness. “It's not really anything special. Everyone can feel energy, they just have to be open to accepting it. When I say energy, that's not really right. It's more like an...an emotional imprint. Your room is a very er... happy room. It's full of very good memories and feelings. Which, actually is probably why your spirit manifests there in such a...happy way.” He pointed to the tent in his pants shamelessly. “I totally popped a boner off the vibes.”

****

He totally popped a boner in Jared's bed. “This house was abandoned for years before I moved in. And honestly, I haven't really had much of a chance to make any memories in that room. I er...well, I just finished it. Beforehand, I was sleeping in my guest bedroom. Which has a twin sized bed, so my girlfriend prefered we slept at her house. Before her, there was just one girl, and it wasn’t serious.” They mostly never made it past the living room. “So those uh....those vibes are not mine.” And even then, it had only been Adrianna, the tight-bodied Zumba instructor who worked the weekend shift at Westons Gym.  Before he met Gen.

 

Misha gave him a long, unnerving look that made Jared fidget. “I think your ghost is confused. I can't say for sure, I need to get a better read. But what I think you have going on is a residual haunting. You've been remodeling, yes?”

****

“For the last year. ” He paused, scratching at his neck nervously. “I'm sorta new at the home renovations so it took me awhile to get through everything.”

****

Misha made a face, and then began shamelessly sifting through Jared's every kitchen cupboard. “You started your renovations a year ago, but the activity started recently. What's the last room you finished?”

****

Jared flushed for reasons he couldn't explain. “Oh, um. The bedroom, my bedroom.”

****

Misha ran a fingertip over his lips thoughtfully. “That answers one question. The room is the heart of the haunting. You said there was activity in the bathroom, as well?”

****

“Well, yeah. But it's not just that. I've had things happen in the kitchen as well, and the living room. Uh...it likes to move my stuff.”

  
Misha looked up sharply. “Does it hide or break things? Is it obvious about it? Like staking your chairs oddly, or taking all the knives out of your drawers and putting them in your bed?”  


“What? No, no. It's more like...when I lose my keys, I'll find them on the counter. Even though I know they weren't there. Or...well, it's really particular about putting the ties back on the bread, and organizing my canned goods by expiration date. Sometimes it matches my socks.” He left out the part where it also had a particular habit of stealing his underwear. Sure it might have been relevant, but it was also embarrassing.

****

Misha was silent for a long moment, before bursting into laughter. “Your ghost wakes you up with blow jobs and does your laundry and you want me to exorcise it? That has to be a first.”

 ** ****  
**Jared flushed. Saying 'I think it's a guy' didn't seem like a socially appropriate response. He wasn't homophobic, not by a long shot, but he also wasn't gay. “I don't want to hurt it. I mean, it's just...it shouldn't be here right? Shouldn't it have moved on?”  


Misha's laughter died at once. “Yes. And hey, pizza's here.”

****

A moment later, the doorbell rang, setting off the dogs. Jared left Misha in the kitchen while he paid, but found him in the living room when he returned, running his hands along the wall. “This is the new wall? Tell me about it.”

****

Jared was pretty sure he'd never mentioned the wall, but it was hard to sort out what had and hadn't been said when Misha was tossing facts around like he had every right to know about it. “It's the first thing I've ever built.” Jared set the pizza boxes on the table, and watched Misha walk his fingers over the wainscoting.

****

“Hey, it looks good to me, dude.” Misha paused, dropping to the crouch. He poked at the outlet, and grinned. “Although I don't think installing an outlet is your crowning achievement, Jared.”

****

And okay, that was just weird. Jared had been ridiculously proud of himself when he'd managed to install the outlet. It hadn't been part of his original plan, but he'd got a wild hair up his ass to try some basic wiring work, and had been extremely pleased when it worked. “You're freaking me out.”

****

“It's simple really; you poured all that happy energy into creating this wall. It's a very happy outlet.” Misha shrugged. He stood upright abruptly, eyes drifting toward the stairs. “You don't have sex upstairs, you said?”

  
“No.” Oh Jesus. “Well, I haven't yet.” And that was not suppose to sound so much like a come on. “I mean, the activity started up just after I finished the room. I wasn't sure how I felt about bringing my girlfriend Gen over, and ….”  
  
“Inadvertently creating a paranormal threesome?” Misha grinned, and rubbed his hands together. “So basically what I'm here to do is observe and feel. Mind if I go poke about in your bathroom?”  


“Yeah no, do what you gotta do. You want to eat first?” Jared was sort of starving, but that wasn't anything new.

  
Misha looked down at the boxes on the coffee table, as if they'd magically appeared there out of thin air. “Oh yes, please.”  


“I'll grab plates. You want a beer?” Misha sort of looked like a beer guy, but then, Jared tried not to judge. If the man wanted to drink Pink Squirrels, that wasn't any of Jared's business. (Pink Squirrels were delicious by the way, but Jared much preferred Lemon Drops.) He'd picked up twelve pack mainly because that's what you did for guests right? Offered them drinks? “I also have coke.”

****

“I'll have whatever you're having.”

****

*

****

“So, you eat a lot,” Misha observed, two hours later. They were killing time until Ghost-Hour or whatever Misha had called it. Jared had steadily demolished two and a quarter pizzas. Manfully, Misha forced his way through six pieces, but Jared knew he was full after four. He'd pushed his way through the other two with a manly look of resignation. The remaining three sat in the box. Jared sort of wanted to eat them, but he didn't want to emasculate the poor little guy.

****

“I pretty much work out for a living,” Jared shrugged, wiping pizza grease on the front of his jeans. “I'm always hungry.”

****

Misha nudged the renaming pizza towards Jared with a grin. “Well then, by all means.”

  
So Jared did. Misha polished off the last of his second beer, and stood. “Gonna hit the can. If I'm not back in ten minutes, don't worry, I'm just rifling through your medicine cabinet.”  


Jared didn't know what to say to that, so he settled for a laugh.

****

Ten minutes later he heard the water heater kick on with a groan. Jared was suddenly inordinately glad he decided to bleach the grout between the tiles in the upstairs bathroom. Though part of him found it uncomfortably weird to have a veritable stranger showering in his ensuite bathroom, another part of him really wanted something to happen. If only to have some sort of validation that he was not, in fact, totally crazy.

****

He cleared away the pizza boxes and un-organized the cans in the cupboard. He sort of thought that maybe it wasn't exactly nice to bait the ghost, but Jared didn't want Misha's trip to be in vain.

****

Misha reemerged twenty minutes later wearing Jared's pajamas and towel drying his hair. Apparently his rifling had migrated from medicine cabinets to Jared's dresser. Jared had no idea what to make of the guy and his sheer audacity, other than that he looked totally ridiculous in Jared's too-big sleep pants. “Nothing to report in the bathroom, but I do I feel it's only responsible of me to inform you that your condoms are past their expiration date. Also, can I ask, where you buy your shampoo? Because it smells like blueberries and I like it.”

****

“I'll have to ask my mother.” And wow, what a great way to sound like a total loser. “She bought it for me. Not that she regularly buys my toiletries.” Nervous beneath Misha's big, blue eyed stare, Jared panicked. “You want to head up for bed now? My room’s---”

****

“Oh! I'm very flattered but it's against company policy for me to sleep with my clients---”

****

“No! No, I meant, do you want to sleep in my room, since that's where most the activity takes place! I can sleep in the guest room. I wasn't...I mean, I'm not...uh. Hitting on you.” He flushed, and resisted the urge to beat his head against the nearest wall. “Not that there's...you know...anything wrong with you. I mean---”

 

Misha laughed, and tossed his towel at Jared's face. “If you don't mind, that's not a bad idea. But I don't want to put you out---”

****

Jared caught the towel against his chest, fingers curling into the damp terry cloth. “It's no problem, really. Er shit...you didn't even say you were crashing here. I didn't mean to assume---”

****

Misha shrugged of his panic. “Nah, I'm glad you offered. Less awkward than asking if I can sleep in your bed.” He shot Jared a wry smile, and hiked up his borrowed pants. “It's way too early to go to bed and not feel like an old person. You got cable?”

****

“I have Netflix? ”

****

Misha grins, and rubs his hands together. “Pick something, would ya? I'm going to go set up my equipment.”

****

“Equipment?” Jared couldn't quite stop the image of Misha in full Ghostbusters uniform from forming in his head, brown jumpsuits and Proton Packs included. He had a bit of a Bill Murray swagger to him, so it wasn't even that much of a stretch. Although, he didn't look the Sigourney Weaver type. Not that there was anything wrong with Sigourney Weaver. She was damn hot in Aliens. Jared probably needed to put down the beer and tune back into the conversation. He wasn't drunk, not by a long shot, but that fourth beer really wasn't necessary. Jared didn't need help being awkward.

****

“----audio recorders, heat-sensitive camcorders, and an EMF monitor,” Misha finishes explaining, and Jared hoped none of it was terribly relevant information. “So I'll just pop up and do that. Be back in ten.”

****

Jared took the opportunity to snag some pajamas of his own from the laundry room. Originally the washer and dryer hook ups had been shoved mercilessly into the tiny downstairs bathroom. Now they were tucked away in the back of the sun room. Jared hadn't wanted to admit it, but the sun room had always given him the willies, for the lack of a better word. Every time he went into it, the hairs on the back of his neck would stand at attention, and inexplicable dread would fill his stomach. He always hurried through doing his laundry, carting the clean clothes out to be folded elsewhere. The sunroom was possibly his least favorite room in the house.

****

Tonight was no different. As soon as he stepped into the room, the sensation that someone was in his face screaming overtook him. He snatched a pair of sweats and a t-shirt from the dryer and hauled ass back to the kitchen.

****

“Woah, are you alright?” Misha asked, where he met him at the stairs. “What's got you all freaked out?”

****

Jared laughed because Chad's description of mind-fucking suddenly seemed more apt. “Nothing, just...well. The laundry room has always freaked me out. I don't know why I didn't mention it before, but yeah...I can't stand being in there.”

****

Misha frowned, and followed Jared to the laundry room, his bag still slung over his shoulder. Setting the bag on the washer, he took a moment to rifle through it, pulling out an odd mess of yellow plastic, shiny lights, and wire. “This is an EMF reader. Er...well, actually it's a Walkman I turned into an EMF reader.” He held it up to the bit of wall between the washer and dryer and grinned when it began to blink wildly, while emitting the most god-awful shrill that Jared had ever heard.

 

“Why are you smiling?” Jared asked loudly.

****

Misha flipped the little contraption off. “Good news? It's not ghosts. Let me guess? You're breaker box is on the other side?” He tapped the wall between the washer and dryer. “I bet you've got all kinds of wiring in these walls too. Basically what you have going on here is called a cage-effect. It's pretty much a chain link fence of electromagnetic waves. While it's true that ghost put out EMF, so do all electronic appliances. Get enough of that in the air, and it makes some people get a little paranoid. You're probably a little sensitive to it. Some people have panic attacks, or even develop rashes. It's actually the number one reason people think their houses -especially old houses with old wiring- are haunted.”

****

Jared blinked at him. “But that doesn't explain everything else going on. Like the bathroom mirror and my cupboards and keys and---”

****

“Well no,” Misha replied reasonably, tossing the walkman back into his bag. “That's just this room. The rest of your house is totally haunted, dude.”

****

“Oh.” Well, it wasn't anything he didn't know before. But then...he'd been pretty careful to avoid words like haunted, or ghosts. There was just no way to say it without sounding (and feeling) totally nuts. Except, if your name was Misha Collins and you hunted ghosts for a living. Jared hedged toward the door again. The claustrophobic feeling was already settling down on him. “So uh...Doctor Who or Walking Dead?”

****

Absolutely nothing happened the night Misha stayed. The house was quiet, and Jared could barely force himself to sleep, tucked away in the guest room. The bed smelled like Chad, and he bitterly wished he'd had thought to change the sheets. Chad smelled like beer nuts and hooker sweat. Jared made it about a half an hour before abandoning the guest room to crash on the couch.

 

The couch smelled like blueberries and Misha.

****

He dropped Misha off at Parlor the following morning, before the doors were even open. “I'd invite you in for coffee or something, but I live in a closet. Swing by later this week, and I'll tell you what I found. We'll go from there. Of course, if anything happens in the meantime, you know where to find me.”

****

Jared wasn't really sure when 'later this week' was. Two days seemed to soon, and a solid week was a world away. Did dating rules apply? Jared had never complied with them anyways. Why wait three days to call? Just, why? Plus, this wasn’t a date. It was...a business transaction.

****

He settled on a five day stretch not five minutes after dropping Misha off. He reminded himself of said resolution every morning, as he un-organized the canned-goods and poured himself a cup of coffee he hadn't made.

****

He'd even started taking notes on the activity, not particularly sure it would be any help. Still, a notebook sat on his counter, where Jared marked down times and types of activity. Really, he just wanted to see if there was a pattern.

****

There wasn't. And in the end, Jared only made it four days before breaking down and calling Misha.

****

And by breaking down he really meant having a mental break down.

****

Since the thing with the almost-blow job, Jared had taken to sleeping on the couch. That was as far as the ghost had managed to get, but Jared wasn't exactly interested in letting it run all the bases. He could be forced to handle a few above-the-waist ghost hickeys (and really, what was his life, that he could handle a few above-the-waist ghost hickeys?), but once the buttons started popping, Jared sort of had to draw the line.

 

And mostly things had been quiet. The canned-goods were still found organized every morning, his socks were still matched, his coffee made. The mirror still sported the occasional boner, and on one memorable occasion, Jared even found lube in the upstairs bathtub which was suggestive and alarming enough to have him showering in the tiny downstairs shower stall.

 

Sleeping downstairs had curbed the night-time visits, and really, that's all Jared wanted. It wasn't until the fourth morning that Jared's tentative 'I can deal with this' attitude came crashing down brutally.

****

He'd woken at seven to the trill of his phone alarm, and promptly slapped it with an open palm until it shut up. He had another alarm set for 7:15, so he didn't even bother not falling back asleep. But the next time he woke, it wasn't to the sound of his phone.

****

It was to a voice.

****

It was unfamiliar, and distant, like it had been filtered through water, or the shitty speakers Chad had in his car. It crackled, pitch shifting oddly with every word.

****

“Time to wake up,” the voice sang softly, and Jared could feel cold fingertips dance down the slope of his nose. He kept his eyes shut, frozen in terror. “Hey, come on now, don't be like that. I know you're mad at me for something, but I really wish you'd come back to bed. You know I can't sleep without you and it's been days. You hate the couch, don't tell me you don't.”

****

Jared swallowed, shaking his head minutely. His hands flexed at his sides, and suddenly he could feel the gentle weight of someone sitting on him, pinning him down at the hips.

****

Those cold fingers slipped into his hair, a hand on each side, nails scratching gently at the nape of his neck, while thumbs, brushed along his cheek bones. It was...it was intimate, and it made his heart pound. “You need a haircut,” the voice said absently, before sighing. “C'mon, please. I don't know what I did to make you so damn mad, but I'm sorry.” It...he sounded distressed, choking as he spoke, desperate and pleading. Jared wanted to say something, but his lips wouldn't work. The air crackled, and he could taste metal in his mouth. His head ached, like a migraine had punched him in the face. Pressure built in his ears; God was his head going to explode? “Why won't you talk to me any more? I'm really, really sorry. Just...can you give me a hint? Something. Let me make it better. I'll make it better, I promise, please. Please.”

****

Something shattered overhead, and Jared opened his eyes just in time to see the lamp light flicker and die with a hiss of smoke. Over him was the translucent, shimmering form of a man, pale and barely-there, with his hands curled into Jared's shirt, and his eyes wide. “T..T...T------” and then he was gone.

 

Jared's heart was beating a million miles a minute as he scrambled for his phone, racing out the door without even bothering to put shoes on. He was in his car before he realized he didn't have the keys. They were probably sitting on the counter, where he'd put them, and no, just no. Jared was not going back in there.

****

No phone. No shoes. He did have his phone though. He was dialing Misha's number before he could even think to call Chad.

****

'Jared?'

 

Jared didn't even have it in him to be weirded out by Misha's brain-fucking (or possibly caller-ID, not that Jared thought Misha had his number, but who the fuck knew, really?). “Misha,” he breathed, clutching the phone. “I...the couch, and I woke up and with the hair and the begging and the light-bulb exploded and I can't go back in there I can't and I don't have my shoes or keys and Oh God---”

****

'Jared, Jared, calm down okay? Stay in your car, I'll be there in twenty.'

****

Jared doesn't really remember the time passing, just sitting in his car hyperventilating in nothing but his pajama pants. He did catch a glimpse of old Mrs. Milton across the street peeking at him through the curtains. A sleek black impala pulled up behind him, and then there was Misha, pulling his door open, and plucking his cell phone from his hands.

****

“Hi! This is Misha Collin's. I'm a friend of Jared Padalecki. Oh no, he's fine. Well, actually he's going to need a personal day. He'll be right as rain by tomorrow I'm sure, but if you could--- oh, awesome. Yes, I'll have him call you. Awesome. You too.” He ended the call and took Jared by the hand. “Hey big guy, you better?”

****

“I'm not going back in there,” Jared said, but his voice wasn't nearly as firm as he'd have liked it. Actually, it was rather breathless and choked.

****

Misha gave him a long look, before nodding. “Alright, how about this; I go in there and get you some clothes, we go grab breakfast and you tell me what happened.”

  
  


Fifteen minutes later, Misha returned with a bundle of clothes, Jared's wallet, shoes, and a small black plastic thing. “Audio recorder,” he explained, at Jared's questioning look. “I left a few last time, plugged in upstairs. Don't worry, just audio. No visuals,” he added, with a smirk. “I told you I'd be putting them in, guy.”

****

“Right.” That was probably what he was talking about when Jared had momentarily checked out of the conversation. Didn't make it any less weird and invasive, but really, Jared had bigger things on his mind. “But uh...the thing that happened, it happened down stairs.”

****

“Well it can't hurt to check these out anyway. Alright, lets get you dressed and head out. You look like you could use some coffee.” Jared winced, and Misha laughed. “I turned your coffee pot off, by the way.”

****

“....Thank you.”

****

Jared dressed himself in the bathroom of the little off-shoot diner Misha had taken them too. He took a moment to splash some water on his face, and generally calm down before joining Misha at the back corner booth.

****

Misha was on Jared's cell phone. “Don't worry, I'll have it back before your shift ends.” He ended the call and slid the phone across the table. “Had to let Jensen know where his car went. The waitress stopped by; I ordered you a coffee.”

****

“Awesome,” Jared said, flinching when Misha reached across the table and plucked something out of his hair. “Wha---”

****

“You had something in your hair,” Misha explained, holding up the small piece of white, curved glass. “You mentioned a light exploded?”

****

He resisted the urge to run his hands through his hair, folding them instead, into his lap. “Uh, yeah. The table lamp next to the couch.”

****

Misha frowned, and gave him another hard look, blue eyes wide and accessing. “What happened in there? It...felt bad. Desperate. The entity didn't hurt you did it?”

****

Jared shook his head, and forced his mouth to move. “No...no, but...I woke up and it was on me. On my lap.” He flushed dully, and fiddled with a pink sugar packet. “I froze. I don't know, man. I couldn't speak, I couldn't move, and it was talking. I could barely hear it, like it's voice was fuzzy, but...it was...”

****

“It was?” Misha prompted gently, as he stacked the creamers in a pyramid and helpfully did not force anymore unwanted eye contact on Jared.

****

“He was upset, that I'd been sleeping on the couch lately. He didn't understand why I was mad. He...he wanted to make it better. He begged...he just sounded really broken.”

****

Misha's hands paused for half a second before he resumed his stacking. “Alright. What happened when the light exploded?”

 

“I opened my eyes, on reflex I guess, and he vanished. I saw him, Misha. He was uh...he was bald, and he had blue eyes. Light blue, not like yours. He was kind of....I don't know, see-through. But I saw him, and I could feel the weight of him on me, and the way his hands were curled in my hair.”

****

To his credit, Misha didn't even blink at that. “It takes a lot of energy to physically manifest one's self, let alone become corporeal. That's why you're lamp exploded. He was drawing energy out of it, probably, and it overloaded the circuits. Tell me how you felt when he was on you, touching you.”

****

“Um. Violated mostly,” Jared admitted, but it didn't feel like the right answer. It wasn't the answer Misha wanted. “I felt sick. My ears were ringing, and my head hurt, and I could taste...metal in my mouth.” Blood, he thought, he could taste blood.

****

“Medically, that's called an aura. Some people get them right before they have seizures. It's a good indicator that your body is being overwhelmed. Paranormally? You're ghost was overwhelmed, and probably projecting that onto you. Your body couldn't handle it. It's not unlike the EMF cage I explained when I visited. Do you remember? Did it feel the same?”

****

“Yes,” Jared said at once. It was the same crushing feeling, the same overwhelmed and drowning sensation. “Just...more. More intense.”

****

“When I went into your house, I took a minute to sit on the couch and get feel there.” He paused when the waitress came over, as they gave their orders and fixed their coffee. Misha, to Jared's surprise, drank his black and bitter. “You're ghost...he felt...for the lack of a better word, heart broken. You remember how I told you I thought it was confused. I'm certain of it now.”

****

“Confused how?” Jared asked, a little desperately. He was pretty confused himself.

****

With an awkward laugh, Misha flashed him what looked like a very apologetic grin. “I think...and don't quote me on this, but I think it believes you are it's girlfriend. Or wive. Spouse. Significant other.”

****

“Boyfriend,” Jared corrected, and then flushed right down to his chest. “Uh...I'm pretty sure it knows I'm a dude.” Misha did the staring thing again, silently demanding an answer. But Jared wasn't giving him any. The lube didn't bear mentioning.

****

“Well alright then, boyfriend. So I hate to put your obvious discomfort on the back burner here, but the fact of the matter is you need to start sleeping in your bed again.”

****

That. Jared was not expecting that. “No!”

****

“Jared,” Misha said, with a pained sort of patience, like he really didn't want to say what had to be said but he was going to say it anyway. “Look, now I know that this ghost is pretty friendly. Overly friendly, even. But, I honestly believe that it won’t hurt you. If you ask it to stop, it will. It thinks that you’re his lover. It’s not going to force anything on you. And if it does? Bolt. But, the fact of the matter is that it looks dangerously close to shifting from regular old ghost and into poltergeist, which would be bad. It doesn't want to hurt you now, but it's pretty obvious that it can.”

****

“What does that have to do with me sleeping in my room? It's not contained in my room!” Jared knew he was sounding a little hysterical, and apparently the waitress agreed as she set a double stack of pancakes in front of him with a wary eye.

****

“No, it's not. Alright, look. You want to know your options? You could move. You could sell your house, that you've poured so much love and time into. You could make this ghost someone elses problems. A house like that? Two stories, big back yard, remodeled laundry room; you can bet your ass it's going to a family with kids. So basically you can sell your poltergeist to some kids or man up and sleep in your own fucking room.” Every word was said in a pleasant congenial tone, as Misha smothered his own breakfast in hot sauce, and bit into it with a smile.

****

And wow, Jared had not seen this level of emotional manipulation since he was dating Alexis Bledel in his senior year. “You're mean.”

 **  
**“I'm a leo, I can't help it.” He grinned, flashing bits of half-masticated hash brown. “So what's it going to be?”


	3. Chapter 3

  


Jared looked at his own pancakes balefully. “Just...why? What good will it do?”

****

“Well, not sleeping in your bed upset the ghost. It thinks you're spiting him or you're mad about something, and it's making him freak out. So until you stop doing that, my best bet is that he's going to keep freaking out.”

****

Jared picked up his fork and sighed. “What if it...what if he tries to get, you know...frisky. Again.”

****

“Tell him you have a headache. Tell him you have herpes. Hell, let him blow you. We both know you haven't gotten any in a while.” Misha pointed his fork at Jared. “Don't lie to me, guy. Your walls talk and the only lady touch you've gotten in the last few months is that soap your mom bought. Hey, did you ask her where she bought that. That stuff was awesome.”

****

“Bed Bath and Beyond.” Jared manfully resisted the urge to thunk his head against the table, if only to remain syrup free and protect his pancakes from forehead damage. He settled for a face palm. “I have a girlfriend you know. We just usually stay at her apartment. If me sleeping on the couch freaked out the ghost, what do you think bringing a girl back would do?”

****

*

****

Misha took him home after breakfast, but not before a quick stop at Bed Bath and Beyond. “Where do you normally shower?” Jared asked, and immediately felt rude. He was basically asking the homeless about their bathing habits. Misha smelled pretty clean though, so he could only assume he had access to suitable bathing facilities.

****

Misha didn't see to mind, supplying an answer with little shame. “Down at the Y. I have an employee membership. I teach two Pilates classes a week. Pay is crap, but the people are nice. The zumba instructor gave me a blowy on my first day.”

****

Predictably, Jared tripped into a towel display. Misha frowned.

****

“Too soon? I've made you uncomfortable. Jensen says I over share. ” He stared shrewdly across the aisle, as if expecting Jared to deny it.

 

Which he did, of course. “Nah, nah. It's cool. I mean, who doesn't love blow jobs? I love blow jobs. But you know, with a little less dead guy, and a little more---”

****

A store employee who had rushed over to right the towel display stared at them with wide, terrified eyes. “Uh...can I help you with anything?”

****

Jared closed his eyes and sighed. “Nah, I think we're good here. Unless you sell pride. I'd settle for a little dignity at this point. ”

****

Misha took pity on him, laughing as they made their way to the hair care section.“If it makes you feel better, the zumba guy that blew me was and is totally alive.”

****

“It doesn't, actually.” Zumba guy. Jared sighed, wondering if he's sounded like a total homophobic ass hat this whole time. “I'm not...I don't care uh...mostly. I mostly don't care that it's a dude. Even if that's not my particular persuasion.”

****

“It's the ghost thing that's freaking you out? Totally understandable” Misha flashed him a sympathetic look. “Look, if you're really worried about him crawling into bed with you, I have a few things we can try.”

****

 

Which was how Jared found himself circling his bed with a line of table salt. “Rock salt is better.” Together, they tugged the headboard away from the wall. “But table salt works well for fairly benign spirits.”

****

If Jared's spirit was considered benign, he really did not want to see an aggressive one. “So it'll keep him out? Will that make him mad?”

****

“Hope not.” Misha grinned. “If you were really concerned about his feelings, you'd cuddle him like he wants.”

****

“Cuddling is the last thing on this ghosts' mind.” Jared sprinkled the last of the salt behind the headboard. “It gave me a hickey on my ass. I think it bit me.”

****

Misha finished his half of the salt line as well, and popped up from the other side of the bed. “A healthy sex drive is nothing to scorn. Don't take your frustrations out on the poor trapped spirit. If I have half his ambitions when I'm dead, I'll be a very happy but still dead man.”

****

“Frustrations?! The only thing I'm frustrated about is the ghost that keeps on trying to blow me. I mean, I've got my kinks, but post-life necrophilia is not one of them.”

****

“It's called Spectrophilia ,” Misha supplied, before laughing at him. “Although I'm suddenly strangely curious about your actual so-called kinks.”

****

Jared was red faced, half from exasperation and half from embarrassment. He wasn't one to kiss and tell, let alone talk about his kinks. “Shut up.”

****

“Oh don't give me that sour face, guy. You're not the first sheltered and repressed Christian-raised Texan I've known and broken. Jensen holds that honor.”

****

Jared hit him in the face with a pillow. “I'm not repressed.”

****

“I notice you don't deny the sheltered bit, there.” Misha hugged Jared's pillow, rubbing his stubbly face on the pillow. “Wow, these are soft. What is this? Egyptian Cotton? I like it.” He nuzzled it again, closing his eyes.

****

“Give me that.” Jared yanked the pillow out of his hand, and laughed when Misha flailed.

****

**

****

The salt worked. Jared slept the night away without a single ghostly sexual advance. However, in the morning, he step out of the shower to find a little heart drawn on the mirror, instead of the usual penis. Inside the heart were two letters, added together. M+T.

****

On a whim he sprinted back the bedroom to grab his phone. He snapped a picture, and froze when it appeared on the little screen. Behind him, just over his shoulder, was a familiar bald head, mouth split into a wide smile, looking pleased as punch. Jared felt the room go cold, the steam hanging in the air evaporating instantly. The light overhead flickered and blinked. He lowered the phone, hand curling over the edge of the counter, as a phantom mouth pressed a cold kiss into the curve of his neck.

****

“I've missed you,” the spirit whispered, against his skin. “Love you.”

****

And then it was gone. Jared couldn't even begin to explain why he felt so fucking heartbroken.

****

Gen stopped by the gym before her shift at the jewelry store across town. “Hey babe,” she grinned, pinching him on the ass. “Katie’s got a thing tonight. Mind if I cancel our dinner plans? We could grab lunch, if you’re free.”

****

“What?” Jared had totally forgotten about their dinner plans, but telling Gen that would only end in disaster. He’d actually planned on heading to Misha’s after work. “We could just do dinner a little later? What does Katie have you doing?”

****

“Just a thing,” Gen said vaguely, waving her hand. At Jared’s flat look, Gen sighed. “Fine, whatever. We were going to go look at wedding dresses.”

****

“Katie’s getting married? I didn’t even know she was seeing anyone.” Katie Cassidy was notoriously known as a man eater. Or lady-eater, if it suited her that week. Jared’s stomach twisted. That meant...

****

“She’s not,” Gen said flatly, mouth pulling into a pout.

“Oh.” Jared changed the subject before Genevieve could start that talk again.  “So where did you want to get lunch, again?”

****

*

****

He headed to Parlor after work, flashing the counter-guy a quick, nervous grin before wordlessly heading toward Misha's closet.

****

“He's not here, big guy!” Counter-guy called out, beckoning Jared toward him. “He's over at Rob Benedict’s place. You know where that is?”

 

“Uh...no, sorry. I didn't have an appointment or anything, I just had something I thought Misha might want to see.” He shifted nervously on his feet. He still felt inexplicably guilty when he came to Parlor. Like a kid caught with his mom’s Sear’s catalogue flipped open to the bra section. “I'll give him a call, instead.”

****

Counter-Guy shook his head, making his lip piercing catch the light and glint. “Rob doesn't allow cell phones in his house; he's paranoid like that. How about I give you the directions? Misha won't mind if you stop by and crash his geek party. Knowing Misha, he's probably expecting you. What do you got, anyway?”

****

“Uh...a picture.” Jared squirmed, digging his cell phone out of his pocket. He pulled up the picture and handed the phone to Counter-Guy wordlessly. “It's uh...I took it this morning.”

****

Counter-Guy's eyebrows flew up his forehead, mouth falling open. “Uh...”

****

“You can see it right?” Jared thought it was pretty obvious; it was a face floating over his shoulder, after all. “I mean, you don't think I'm wasting Misha's time, right?”

****

Clerk-Guy handed the phone back. “Oh no. Misha will very much want to see that.”

 

  
  


*

****

Rob Benedict's house was a two story A-Frame on the other side of town. It was painted a defiant shade of ugly orange, unlike the neutral shades of every other house on the cul de sac. He stood on the doorstep, and jumped when Misha answered before his finger even reached the doorbell.

****

“Jared! Hey! Hi. What's wrong?” He eyed Jared head to toe in a way that made him feel suddenly naked. “Salt lines work? Why are you all grumpy?”

****

Sometimes Jared forgot that Misha was...whatever Misha was. But then he did things like that. “Just...Genevieve. It’s not important. The salt-lines worked great though. But uh...” Jared shifted on his feet, scuffing the toe of his boot on the scruffy welcome mat nervously. “I had some new...activity, I guess you'd call it, this morning. The guy at Parlor said I could find you here. I'm not interrupting anything am I? I don't want to bother you if you're---”

****

“Misha!” A voice called out from beyond Jared's line of sight. “Invite your enormous friend inside.”

****

“Wait!” Another voice called from the same spot Jared couldn't see. “He hasn't been cleared! What about the background checks! What about the fingerprints! I have a system Richie, you can't just---”

****

“But Robbie, he's cute,” the first voice argued, and Jared felt himself squirm. He was mostly use to being objectified; it came with the territory as a fitness instructor. But...well. He'd never be totally comfortable with it. Never let it be said that Jared could take a compliment gracefully.“And tall.”

****

Misha rolled his eyes and pulled Jared into the house, toward the voices. Two men -not tall at all- stood in a pristine kitchen, staring at a CT monitor of what Jared could only assume was the front door. “Uh, hi. I'm Jared. I didn't mean to drop by uninvited. The guy at the counter at Parlor told me---”

****

“Jensen,” Misha cut him off with a errant wave. “That's Jensen, the guy at the counter. Anyway, don't mind Rob. He has issues. Rob, Rich, meet Jared. Jared, Rob Benedict and Richard Speight. This is the guy I was telling you about, with the Creepy Casper.”

****

“Oh. Oh. Can I sleep at your house?” Rich asked, with a suddenly eager expression. “You know, for science. Blow jobs can be for science. Does this ghost spit or swallow? Scientifically speaking, of course.”

****

Misha snorted -probably at Jared's horrified face- and patted Richard on the head. “Down boy. His ghost hasn't rounded that base yet. Not for lack of trying.”

****

Richard snorted indignantly, and ruffled his hair back into an artful disarray. He was oddly intimidating for someone a nearly a foot shorter than Jared himself. He curled his fingers into the front of Jared's shirt and hauled him down. “A real live case of spectrophilia and you're going to be a prude about it? Take the hit for science, dude! Take the blow job for science.”

****

Jared wriggled in Richard's grip, to no avail. “Uh....Misha.”

 

Misha shrugged, and pulled the freezer door open. “Don't look at me, guy. I agree with Richard. It's for science. I'm eating your bagel bites, Rob.”

****

“Oh but....”

****

Misha ignored Rob's protest, barreling on as was his wont. “No, I'm pretty sure I'm eating them. You're going to let me. I know these things.”

****

Rob deflated. “Okay.” He turned to Jared, still pinned beneath the weight of Richard's glare, that and his tiny fists. “Well. You're here to stay I guess, new guy. No cell phones in the house.”

****

Jared put his hand on Richard's forehead and pushed him away. Gently! More like...relocated him by the head. Jared didn't make it a point to manhandle people of lesser stature or anything. Richard didn't seem offended, just amused as he re-fluffed his hair. “I uh...I had a picture, though? Of the ghost. It's on my phone, sorry.”

****

All eyes snapped to him. “Photographic paranormal evidence?” Rob chirped, eying him with an odd amount of distrust. “I swear to all that is holy if you show me a dust orb, I'll gut you with a tooth bru---”

****

“It's a face, it's a face!” Jared held his phone up, picture bright on the screen. “See, it's a face. Right over my shoulder.”

****

Misha grabbed the phone out of his hand, Rob and Rich crowding in around his shoulders. Like Jensen's, their eyebrows shot up their foreheads. “Uh....wow. That's.... that's evidence of something.”

****

“Is it...not right? Photographic whatever? I was just trying to get a picture of the thing it drew on my mirror, but when I went back to look at the picture---”

****

“Oh it's photographic alright,” Richard said with a leer, eyes drifting from Jared's face and down, down, down before settling on his crotch.

****

“Oh my God.” Jared felt himself go cold, and then hot, and then cold again, as adrenalin and embarrassment crashed through him. “Oh my God.”

****

“Pants and cropping,” Misha told him solemnly, handing the phone back to Jared. “Both things you might want to brush up on.”

****

“Oh my God.” In his effort to snap a photo of the mirror-thing, Jared had forgotten his post-shower state of wet nakedness. There, reflected in the mirror in all it's glory, was his dick. He'd been so excited about the face, he'd totally not noticed anything else going on in the picture. God, he was even a little hard from the shower, and it showed. Oh, it showed.

****

“A-plus on the manscaping, though,” Rob squeaked, face flushed blotchy and red. The microwave dinged, making every one but Misha jump.

****

Jared choked, feeling his own face go red. “I'm just...going to go home and die now. This has been great. Really. Nice meeting all of you.”

****

Misha latched onto his before he could make his escape, curling a calloused palm over his wrist. “Hey, it could be worse. You could have texted me that. Then it would have been mine forever, and I would have been obligated to show Jensen, as he already wants to bone you hard, so. Yeah. Could be worse! But seriously, chill out guy. It's cool. It's fine. What's a little dick between friends?” He paused at that, frowning. “That sounded less weird, in my head. Anyway, it's no big. We've all been inappropriately pants-less around here at some point or another. Hell, Rob's not wearing pants right now. He freeballs under that robe.”

****

“It's my house,” Rob said defiantly, and stared at them all, as if daring them to deny it. Which, well, Jared hadn't known it was his house until that moment. “Fuck all of you. I hate you.”

****

“Aw! Don't be like that! You love us long time!” Richard chased him out of the kitchen, but not before snagging one of Misha's bagel bites, and jamming it into his mouth, regardless of the heat.

****

“So uh, how long have they been together?” Jared asked, as he followed Misha down a hallway. He lead Jared down a narrow set of uneven stairs, into a well lit basement. It was long and narrow, filled with mismatched furniture, and a spectacular array of computer monitors and other unnamable equipment.

 

“Rob and Richard?” Misha laughed, wiping sauce off his mouth with the back of his hand. “Oh, they're not together. They're brothers. Twins, actually.”

****

Jared blinked. “But they have different last names.” Not to mention they looked nothing alike, save for both being rather short.

****

“Super-fecundated twins,” Misha explained, dropping down onto one of the couches. He patted the cushion, so Jared followed suit, leaving a fairly wide berth between them. “It's rare. They have different dads.”

****

“Our mom was a busy lady,” Richard offers, with a shameless shrug, sinking down into the space Jared had left between Misha and he on the couch. Rob sat in a sagging arm chair, and stared at Jared with a put-out expression of extreme distrust.

****

A sleepy looking kid not a day older than fourteen was nodding off at one of the desks, a bulky pair of headphones heavy on his head. “Hey!” Misha chucked a bagel him.

****

The kid jerked, eyes flying open as he flailed in his chair. He caught the bagel against his chest, smearing greasy sauce down his shirt. “Wha-wha-what? What? What is it? What?”

****

Misha ignored Rob's muttering complaints of how tomato stains and throwing food like a fifth grader and do you know how much Tide Spot Sticks cost. “It's a bagel bite. You get anything else off that tape?”

****

“Nope. Just the hit at 36:34, 'why won't you talk to me?'” The kid blinked owlishly, pushing his shaggy bangs from his face. He eyed the bagel with a wary look, before shoving it in his mouth. “I thought I got another hit a little later, but I think it was a dogfart.” The words were forced out around chipmunk cheeks.

****

“This is Colin, our mini-intern. He's been scoping out your audio tapes.” Misha leaned forward toward the desk and poked Colin (who had went back to listening to Jared's tapes) in the side. “They feed you today?”

****

Colin lowered the headphones again. “Dad packed me a Mountain Dew and some multi-vitamins for breakfast. Uncle Richard gave me a milky way.” He lifted up the candy-bar wrapper in a sign of proof. “Uncle Rob made me a sandwich.”

****

“That's because Rob's the mommy,” Richard heckled, kicking Rob in the ankle. “I bet he made it with one of his weird wheat pita pocket things. It probably even had tomatoes.”

****

“He's going to get scurvy,” Rob moaned, swiping a hand down his face. He turned to Jared with a critical and demanding expression. “Does he look a little yellow to you? Orange? I think he has jaundice.”

****

“He doesn't have jaundice; stop projecting your own hypochondria on the kid.” Misha laughed, and handed Colin another pizza bagel. “Colin is Rob and Richard's sister's kid. But Julie's kind of...” He made a face, clearly hesitant to continue.

****

“Flaky?” Colin suggested, unphased by the conversation. “I mean I love her and everything but....She's kind of a bra-burning liberal hippy. She's on a retreat in Indonesia or something. Or is it a Peta month? I can't remember. I'll ask her on Skype tonight.”

****

“Bed by nine,” Rob said firmly. “Your dad should be home for dinner though.”

****

“Colin's dad is one of the camera man for News 9. He does all our audio-visual stuff. He's teaching Colin a lot about it too. Kid's got a great ear and eye for evidence, ” Misha explained, reaching over Richard to shove a bagel bite into Jared's hand. “All we ever eat is pizza.”

  
  


He didn’t think that was really an apt conclusion; they’d gotten breakfast that one time. But really, Jared had a bagel bite so it didn’t matter. “I don’t care, so long as it’s not wrapped in seaweed” . Gen insisted on going to lunch at a sushi place. Tiny, bite-sized chunks of rice and fish didn’t exactly fill him up.

****

“Actually, if you could crop that picture and send it to me, Colin can take a look at it, and get it up on the database. We're not doubting you of course, but legitimate documents of paranormal interaction have to be investigated.”

****

“Um. Okay.” He pulled out his phone, ignoring Rob's brutal stare, as he cropped the photo and texted it to Misha. Misha, in return, texted it to Colin who had it up on his computer before Jared could even blink. Rob's scowl increased ten fold. Apparently, no one took the no-phones rule seriously. “So...what are you going to do with it?”

****

“It goes up into the Paranormal Investigators database, where very investigator worth his salt, and all the ones that aren’t, take turns ripping it apart and debunking it.” Richard reached for a bagel bite as he explained. Misha smacked his hand away. “Colin, why don't you go ahead and send in the sound clip as well. You got anything else, Jared?”

****

Jared blinked, and flushed as everyone turned and looked at him expectantly. “Just...first hand accounts, I guess. I've been keeping a log of all the activity, though. It's mostly the same stuff, the cupboards and the bathroom mirror.” He couldn't bring himself to repeat the ghosts words, or tell them about the kiss.

****

Misha gave him another shrewd look, and Jared wondered if maybe he knew anyway. “M plus T. Initials, obviously. Hey Rob, do you think you can get Sam to look into the house history? Jared said it's been uninhabited for ten years but---”

 

“There was a fire,” Jared said, snapping his fingers. “How did I not tell you this sooner? There was a fire, something about the wiring in the old laundry room. But the realtor said it was mostly cosmetic stuff. She didn't mention any deaths---”

****

“Which realtors are required to by law,” Rob cut in, his scowl fading away to a curious look. “Doesn't mean they do. Hmm. Yeah, I'll talk to Sam, see what she knows. Though, if it was a fire, Jim would probably have more to say about it.”

****

“He transferred in from Wabash six years ago, he wouldn’t have been around for the fire,” Richard cut him off, shaking his head. “JD might know something though.”

****

“He works in pediatrics, though.” Rob argued. “What would he know about a fire?”

****

Richard rolled his eyes. “He worked the trauma center before; he would have seen any fire victims.”

****

They continued arguing, much to Jared's confusion. Misha took pity on him, and pushed Richard off the couch. Richard didn't seem to mind, too busy bickering. “Sam, Jim, JD; they're all people we know. They're not really in the ghost business, but they make good contacts. Samantha works for the zoning committee. Jim works for the Police force, and JD, as stated, is a doctor over at Hartford West.”

****

“Wow. You have like, an actual operation going on here. Not that I thought you didn’t!” Jared added, when Rob’s left eye twitched violently.. “I just didn't realize how much went into this stuff.”

****

Misha nodded, as if this were a common misconception. “I don't actually work for Rob and Rich. Technically, I'm a consultant just like Sam or Jim. But...they have free wifi and pizza bagels, so I'm sold.”

****

“Free to you,” Rob adds in, disgruntled. He and Richard seem to have settled their score, with noogies, judging by the disarray of their hair. It makes Jared miss his brother and sister badly. “I bought those pizza bagels with my own money.”

****

“You're own grant,” Misha corrected, his cheeks puffed out like a hamster, full of bagel. He pushed up off the couch, and leaned heavily over Colin's shoulder, clicking at the keyboard.

****

Jared recognized the control + p even before the printer kicked to life with a series of click, click, beep, grinds. Colin grabbed the paper off the the tray. The printer must have been in use solely for photos, Jared thought, as the low light overhead shines of his glossy 8x10 abs. He took a moment to appreciate the camera on his I-Phone; it took one hell of a clear picture. (Of his dick, he reminded himself, and all appreciation vanished.)

****

Misha tossed the photo to Rob like a Frisbee, letting it twist and flutter into his lap. “Which you will probably be able to renew with this alone. So don't be a party pooper”

 

“Plus the audio,” Colin chipped in, pulling his headphones back down around his neck.

****

“Plus the audio,” Misha echoed, tipping his head, and lifting a bagel bite at Rob as if it were a glass of sparkling champagne. “And testimonials made by one Misha Dmitri Tippens Krushnic Collins, respected and acknowledged psychic medium in the fields of Paranormal Psychology. So, you know; eat it, bitch. Karmically speaking, I helped buy these bagel bites, I'm entitled to them. Jared too.”

****

“That doesn't even makes sense!” Rob slammed his hand into the couch cushion in tiny outrage.

****

“Wait.” Jared makes a face. “You're using my photo to get grants? You get grants for this kind of thing?” He immediately regretted opening his mouth, when Rob scowled. Jared supposed he'd scowl too if someone knocked his profession. Which Chad did often enough. Even though his job technically ranked beneath Jared’s. Chad was never one for technicalities.

****

Richard ruffled Rob's hair. “Rob here is one of the top names in the business. He's even had a bunch of articles and collected proof published. He's considered one of the top researchers.” Though his actions were teasing, Richard's words spoke of nothing but pride.

****

“What do you do?” Jared asked Richard, who positively preened in response, straightening up where he sat on the chair arm beside Rob.

****

“I'm a professor a HCH, for Paranormal Psychology.” He made a face shrugged. “And normal Psychology too, but that's no fun.”

****

Jared reeled. “You're a psychologist?”

****

“Why does everyone say it like that?”

****

*

****

Misha came home with Jared late that evening, toting with him a heavy looking black bag of equipment and several 'theories and plans'. Whatever that meant. Rob told him it probably meant ‘plotting the destruction of everything you hold dear’.  Jared decided he’d been kidding.

 

“So, your friends seem nice.” He’d had met Matt just before leaving. He seemed an odd fit with the otherwise eclectic trio, but Misha was quick to assure him that Matt was probably the weirdest of the whole lot. There was mentions of drag-queen car-washing and a deep and abiding love for drunken Karaoke before Matt put Misha in a vicious looking headlock, complete with a noogie that did little to affect Misha's already messy head of hair.

****

“Wait until you've met Sebastian,” Misha told him, with a promising (alternatively, it could have been considered alarming) grin. “He's part of Richard and Rob's international department. I think he's currently in....Bangladesh? Maybe Budapest. It started with a B. He just kind of floats from place to place, offending people's sensibilities and bastardizing customs. It's part of his charm.” He kicked off his shoes by the door, and hitched his bag up higher on his shoulder. Jared wondered if there was a way for him to offer to take it, without offending any manly pride. “So what side of the bed do you want?”

****

Manly pride be damned, Jared froze where he was toeing off his own shoes. “Excuse me?”

 

Misha gave him a put upon face. “Relax guy, your virtuous gay-ginity is safe. I just want to see how the ghost reacts to another person in bed with you. Honestly, your bed is huge. I sleep in a closet; how much room could I possibly take?”

****

A lot, as it would turn out.

****

Jared spent the night in a series of increasingly awkward positions. Oh sure, they began their descent into slumber on their respective halves, but an unconscious Misha was one with even less boundaries. Jared woke first to Misha's arm thrown over his stomach. After extricating the appendage, he wasn't given the chance to fall back asleep before Misha had rolled, snuffling his face into Jared's shoulder. And then it was his leg thrown up over Jared's. And then their ankles were tangled. At one point, Jared was pretty sure he ended up the little spoon.

****

He didn't sleep a wink.

****

Or at least, he hadn't expected too. One moment he was awake, and the next he was being slowly accosted by invisible hands. Either that or Misha was sleep-frisking. “Um...uh...,” he stuttered, opening his eyes to find Misha already awake, and sitting up against the headboard.

****

“Shhh,” Misha said, out the side of his mouth. “Don't acknowledge me. Just do what you usually would.”

****

Jared took that as explicit permission to fling himself out of bed, barrel roll across the floor, and fly down the stairs.

****

Misha met him down there a few minutes later, shaking his head. His stubble was more pronounced in the late hour, making his jaw impossibly more sharp. Jared looked away. “What was that?”

****

“That's what I usually do,” Jared wheezed, rubbing his shin where he'd hit the stair rail coming down.

****

Misha sighed.“I meant do what you'd usually do during a blow job. You probably scared him away.”

****

“You sound like I should be sorry.” Misha lifted a brow, and Jared stared at him incredulously. “Seriously?”

****

“You're in his house Jared. He thinks you're his partner. Which means his actual partner isn't here. Think about that while I use all your hot water.”

****

Jared watched him tread back up the stairs, before heading for the kitchen.  Misha’s words weighed heavily on his mind. Jared didn’t want to feel bad for the spirit, but it was hard when he thought about it. Whoever it was the ghost thought Jared was, was long gone now. His ghost had been left behind.

****

After an appropriate amount of scritches and pets, Jared let the dogs out into the back yard. He was rummaging through his fridge for breakfast when Misha reappeared.  He was dressed in his clothes from the day prior, with his phone pressed to his ear. “John Patrick? You’re sure? Nothing else. Well, alright.”  He snapped the phone closed, and stole an apple out of the fruit bowl Jared kept on the counter. “Rob checked with his guy. The previous owner was a man named John Patrick. He’s a dentist out in Walbash.  There are no listed deaths on resident.  Not even an elderly grandmother dying in her sleep. So.”

****

“So?” Jared sat the milk jug down hard on the counter. “You’ve got another idea?”

 

Pushing himself up onto one of the bar stools lining the kitchen island, Misha bit into his apple. Around his bite, he explained. “Sometimes, ghosts don’t haunt residences. They can haunt things. Objects they were profoundly attached too.  Or even sometimes, objects that were somehow important to their death. Did you buy anything second hand, or from an estate sale?”

****

Jared sat down on the other stool, milk and cereal forgotten. “Some of it, yeah. Chad stole the coffee table off a curb next to some garbage can’s on Hollywood Boulevard. A couple lamps downstairs---”

****

Misha perked up. “The one that burst?”

 

“No, that was from Ikea.” Jared frowned, and wished he had more  answers. “I don’t know. A lot of this stuff came from my mom.”

****

Misha accepted the facts without complaint. “Alright. What about the bed? Bedding? Anything in the room? The haunting seems generally focused there. I know your buddy hits the bathroom and the kitchen as well, but the room seems to be the heart of it.”

****

“I bought the bed new, and the mattress. Bedding as well. The dresser came from my parent’s old room. They drove it up here last time they visited.  The side tables came from Good Will. That’s about it.”

****

“Rob’s going to punch me in the neck if I bring him The Ghost Of The Bedside Tables.” Misha sighed heavily as he pushed himself up off the stool. “Come on, let’s go scan shit.”

****

In the living room, Misha pulled something that looked like a black TV remote with a screen and several tiny, multi-colored light bulbs jutting at the end, from his bag. “It’s one of Colin’s designs. The kid is a genius; the patents in the works as we speak.  There are lots of EMF readers, but this one’s special. It doesn’t just scan energies. It scans temperature fluctuations as well. That’s what those lights are, up there.”

****

“What are the red and green buttons for?” He frowned at the little black remote. “Is that a mic? Dude, is this a cell phone?”

****

Misha snorted. “A Nokia, actually. Richard bought like fifty of them off ebay for twelve bucks. He left them all over the house to fuck with Rob. Eventually Collin started taking them apart. And then this was born. Like I said, the kid is a genius.”

****

Misha explained how to use the EMF reader, carefully scanning it along beginning items like the dog bed, and Jared’s lumpy throw pillows. Haley and Sadie had taken one look at the blinking, beeping, black boxes, and promptly bolted to the little nook Jared had built them beneath the stair. Their fuzzy brown heads peeked out from the nest of blankets there, sad brown eyes glaring balefully as Misha and Jared made their way to the master bedroom.

****

Twenty minutes later they were no closer to answers. Every article in Jared’s room had been toppled and turned and scanned twicely The mattress had been flipped, the floor boards investigated. The ceiling had been poked at, and the walls prodded. Nothing screamed paranormal, but Misha seemed sure that Jared’s room was the heart of the haunt. Jared agreed.

****

. Misha frowned at the EMF reader in his hand, flicking it rudely. “I don’t get it. I can feel the energy in this room, but the reader isn’t picking anything heavier than what a toaster would shit off.” He looked up and frowned. “Huh.” Without another word, Misha turned the EMF reader on Jared.

****

Instantly it began to beep and whirl, glowing with violent red and green bursts of light. “Well shit.”

****

“What?” Jared froze. “What? What is it? Is it bad?”

****

“Bad? No, not really. Just...odd.  Ghosts can haunt people; it’s a fairly well documented phenomena. Except, you don’t feel haunted to me. I’d know. I’d sense it.” Misha gave him a flat, unimpressed look. “Stop making that face, guy. You’re going to doubt me now?”

****

Jared did his best to smooth away his incredulous expression“I wasn’t doubting you,” he said in a rush. “Just...still adjusting to the idea of friendly neighborhood psychic-mediums and ghosts with serious cases of OCD and oral fixation.”

****

Misha stared for a long silent moment, before wagging his finger at Jared. “Strip.”

****

Jared blinked.“Um. What?”

****

 

### “Drop trou,” Misha reiterated, waving his nokia-holding hand. “Get naked. Nude. Bare. Buff.Show me your birthday suit. Shuck your kit. Enlever vos vêtements , ” he finished, with what Jared could only assume was French.. Theatrically, he covered his eyes with his palms. “I won’t peek. I just want to test something. But the clothes could be a potential interference. Plus it’s nothing you haven’t shown me before. ”  

 

Jared narrowed his eyes. “That sounds a lot like, ‘the puppies are super cute, but I can’t let them out of my giant, windowless van’.” Still, he pulled his clothes off. He tossed the whole lot onto the bed and covered his junk with his hands before clearing his throat. “Alright, I’m good.”

****

Misha opened his eyes, and blinked. He blinked twice more and cleared his throat. “Good. Right.”  Stepping forward, he pointed the EMF reader at Jared, scanning him from top to bottom. It was blessedly silent, right up until it passed his belly button. “Huh.”

****

“Huh? What do you mean huh.” Jared felt a hysterical burst of laughter bubble out of his throat. “ It just beeped on my dick. Please, please don’t tell me my dick is haunted.”

****

Misha pointed the EMF reader at his dick again, and winced when it began to beep. “I think it’s actually a case of residual energies.” He cleared his throat, and tossed the EMF reader on the bed. “The ghost has been fairly focused on your uh...down stairs situation. I’m thinking some of that energy has become temporarily...affixed.”

****

Jared gave him an incredulous look. “You mean you don’t know? I thought that was your thing, knowing.” He huffed, suddenly tired. “Shouldn’t you know this stuff already? Can’t you just work your whatever and...and just know?”

****

Misha scowled. “So sorry I don’t have all the easy answers, guy. It doesn’t work like that. The things I see....it isn’t like a book. I see what’s already there. And this ghost? He doesn’t know what’s real and what isn’t, so neither do I.”

****

Jared shrank back a little, and flushed. He hadn’t meant to snap. “Sorry, Mish. I guess I’m just...”

****

“Frustrated? I get it, guy. You just want your life back the way it was. That’s cool, that’s fine.” He paused for a moment, lips pursed. “We could exorcise the house, if you wanted.”

****

Jared frowned. “If it was that easy, you’d have suggested it before. So I’m guessing it’s something you don’t actually want to do.”

****

“Wouldn’t be me who did it, if you wanted to do it at all.” Misha flopped down on the bed, throwing an elbow over his eyes. Jared took that as the go-ahead to redress. “It’s...not easy. Not gentle, I guess. It forced the spirit out, and...well, some of them don’t want to go. Some of them are just scared. They don’t understand. Forcing them out...it’s cruel. It never feels right. I never even suggest it, unless the spirit is vengeful or violent. Because of my...particular skills, it makes it an unpleasant task.”

****

Jared did the button on his jeans, and kicked Misha in the shin. “Then why would you suggest it to me?” He asked, when Misha opened his eyes.

****

“Just because your ghost isn’t vengeful or violent, doesn’t mean it isn’t harmful.” Misha gave him a serious look. “I know I’ve written it off before, but unwanted physical contact is never acceptable. Add to that, the ghost is a man. You’re being forced to----”

****

“I’m not being forced,” Jared interrupted, blushing. “I mean, I could leave, couldn’t I? This is his house, whoever he is. He was clearly hear first.”He cleared his throat, and shifted awkwardly. “ And...and it isn’t the man-thing, that bothers me. It’s the whole ‘there is a ghost on my penis’ thing.”

****

Misha snorted at that, and Jared flopped down on the bed beside him, legs dangling off the end. “We want him to go willingly. Whoever the ghost is, he’s confused. So the best thing we can do for him, is help him see. He doesn’t see me at all. Has he ever bothered your friend Chad, or any of your company? Your dog?” ‘

****

Jared shook his head. “No. No one. No one’s even seen him, until you.”

****

“That’s what I thought.” Misha did a barell roll off the bed, springing quickly from a crouch to a stand. “So, we need to get him to see you as Jared, and not his lover.”

 

****

“Any suggestions?”

****

“No, not really.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

  
  


*

****

“Grab your boomstick,” Misha drawled, with a fake southern accent. He kicked the front of Jared’s desk, and dropped himself down into the guest chair. “We’re going hunting.”

****

“What?” Jared looked up from where he was going over his appointment book. “Wait, what? Hunting? Like for ghosts?”

****

“No, for moose,” Misha reeled back, an incredulous expression splashed across his wide-eyed face. “Yes ghosts. Who do you think you’re talking too here?”

****

Jared grinned, and tossed his pen down. “I was sort of wondering if you didn’t want me all up in your business-business. I’d been waiting for you to ask.”

****

“Haven’t had a hunt for a while, or I’d have asked sooner,” Misha promised him, with an answering grin. “You work tomorrow?” He pretended to squint at the schedule on the board behind Jared’s head, but Jared knew better than to believe the act.

****

He kicked Misha’s shin under the desk, and leaned back to grab his duffle bag. “You and I both know you know I don’t.  When do we head out?”

****

Misha pushed up out of his chair, and pulled the office door open. “The guys will head out around six to setup the equipment; audio, visual, EMF, whatever. We’ll drop in about ten or so, and probably stay till three. So we need to hurry up and go.”

****

“Why the rush?” Casting a quick glance at the clock, Jared made a face. “It’s only two now.” He’d had a short day; his one-thirty appointment had canceled due to contractions.  Jared was sort of glad; the last time he’d taken on a pregnant client, her water had broken all over his exercise mat during a squat-thrust session. There were some things Jared never wanted to see a vagina do, and violently excreting an alarming amount of fluid was near the top of the list.

****

“Exactly.” Misha followed him to the Employee’s Only elevator that lead to the parking garage below. “We can grab lunch, watch a movie, and take a quick disco-nap before heading to the job site.”

****

Jared pushed the garage-button on the elevator and rolled his eyes at Misha. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s a disco-nap?”

****

Misha blinked at him, and gave him the confused don’t-you-know head tilt. “A disco nap.  You know, when you take a day-nap so you can boogie all night. Disco nap. Seriously? Kids these days, I swear.” He shook his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “It’s big in the rave scene.”

****

“I’m not the party type,” Jared admitted, as they left the elevator, and headed across the garage. “Not big parties anyway. I did my share of house parties during college, stuff Chad dragged me too...but it wasn’t really my thing.” He shrugged, unselfconscious about this truth. Jared enjoyed getting stupid drunk on occasion, but parties had never been his thing.

****

They both climbed into the car, closing their doors in tandem. “Nah guy, I get that. I’ve always prefered to chill with friends. Doesn’t matter how many, one five, fifteen. But I never cared for hanging around a bunch of people I didn’t know, in a place I didn’t know, listening to music I didn’t know, you know?”

****

“No no, that’s it exactly,” Jared agreed, pulling out of the car park. “Like, Gen really loves going to clubs.  And I mean, I get why she does. She’s a pretty girl, loves getting dressed up and dancing. So I humor her as much as I can but it’s...I dunno. I’ve always found it overwhelming.”

****

Misha made a face Jared didn’t understand, but then smiled. “You’ll have to come by Rob and Rich’s house some time, after you get to know the whole crew is around. It’s usually pretty low key, but we’ve been known to get trashy-drunk. It’s fun. Emily Perkins makes a mean trash-can punch. I don’t know what she puts in it but it tastes like skittles and marshmallows and I always drink to much and lose my pants. Which, now that I think about it, is probably what she’s aiming for. Never drink her punch.”

****

“Chad’s like that,” Jared laughed. “He’s a genius at mixers. It’s actually safer to take him to a party than let him mix his own drinks, to be honest.”

****

“It’s probably safest to just not take him anywhere,” Misha replied, wryly. “I’m kidding of course. Mostly.”

****

Jared shrugged it off. “Chad’s a good guy, but he’s not for everyone. He’s a dick, but he’s my best friend.  I don’t expect everyone to feel the same way.”

****

“He’s very...excited,” Misha said awkwardly, mouth pinching. “He...feels happy, is what I’m saying. It’s all very orange and yellow.” Jared realized that for all that Misha was open about his particular talents, he didn’t talk about them much. “Being around him is a little like being high and on a roller coaster. He gets excited about everything. And I like that; I like people like that.  It’s a little weird with him and Jen in the same room; contrasting flavors, if you will. Jensen is very mellow,  a different kind of high. He’s blue and yellow. But a soft yellow, like butter. Chad feels neon.”

****

“What do I feel like?” Jared turned onto the main street, heading south toward the highway. “If that’s not too intrusive to ask.”

****

Misha blinked at him, and then fiddled with a hole in the knee of his jeans, a smile playing at his lips. “I don’t normally tell people; sometimes it makes people get weird. People like knowing what I do, they think it’s cool or whatever, but they don’t like acknowledging what it means. What it means I could know, or I could feel. People like feeling safe in their own heads, and with me...they aren’t. I don’t go digging; something just come through. So I don’t tell them, and they pretend to not know.”

****

Jared could understand that; Misha’s...thing sometimes twisted him up. How much did Misha catch? Could he read minds, or just catch feelings? What did he see, when he looked at Jared? At anyone? At himself? “That’s cool, dude. I can respect that.”

****

“You tickle,” Misha told him, with a shrug and a smile. “What? You asked. That makes you different.”

****

Jared wasn’t sure how to take that. “I...tickle?”

****

“Yeah. Like, I can feel you in my stomach?” Misha shook his head. “I don’t know how to explain it better than that guy. Everyone feels different.  You tickle. And um...you’re happy. You’re happy all the time. Not like...not a mellow happy like Jensen, or a crazy-happy like Chad. You just...love things. Like, you love things with everything you are. You’re blue and green. But...it’s a very specific blue. Like, the color you see where the water meets the sky on the horizon. Everyone is a very specific color; that’s you. That’s love.”

****

Jared blinked, and then to his unending horror...blushed. He felt like he’d been complimented, but he couldn’t figure out how. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

****

“Oh geez, now you’re embarrassed. Don’t be embarrassed.” Misha reached over and punched Jared in the arm. “It’s not a bad thing. I like it. It’s a really good feeling. You love! What’s wrong with that? You love your house; whenever you see it, it’s like being tickled. You love your dogs, you love them like kids. You get sort of sappy-happy sometimes, watching them pile all over themselves and sleep. You love your job, and not many can say that. You uh...yeah. Love tickles, I guess. I don’t know. Don’t be weird though, guy.”

****

“I’m not weird,” Jared protested, pulling off the highway toward his neighbor hood. “Just...I don’t know. I feel like I should feel a little emasculated or something. But I do love my house and my dogs and my job. So uh...I don’t know.”

****

Misha smiled, wide and dimpled. “Hey, if you’re man enough to wear pink and sleep in a purple room, I think you can live with loving life. Not too many people do, you know? Ain’t nothing wrong with being a little weird. I would know; I hunt ghosts and live in a closet for a living. I am the king of weird.”

****

“How did you get into ghost hunting?” Jared parked the car, and Misha followed him inside. “I mean, I can see why you’d get into it, but how?”

****

“We moved a lot as kids,” Misha explained, kicking his shoes off by the door. Jared suppressed a smile when he immediately headed for the kitchen, and filled the dogs water bowl. Jared filled the dog food as Misha continued. “My mom was kind of a nomad. Every once in awhile we’d end up in these old, creaky houses. Ever since I can remember, I’ve seen ghosts. My mother, at first she thought they were just imaginary friends. But...I kept seeing them.  But then, an old woman who my mother worked with at a cleaning service, she told my mom I was a crystal child.

****

I suppose at that point, I was closer to an indigo child -that’s teens who can see spirits. My mother accepted it as fact, and we never questioned it. But...as you might have noticed, it wasn’t just ghosts. There was the other stuff, the empathy and what not. Apparently people are not suppose to feel like colors. Mom always said I was a sensitive child, she just never knew how sensitive.” He grinned. “She was never one to pass up on an opportunity though. As soon as I got old enough, I started doing fortune tellings and what not. Mom did palm readings; she was very good at them.  Not good like me, but good at selling people a story they wanted to hear. It’s not surprising she ended up selling used cars in Vegas.”

****

“Your mom is a cars salesmen?” Jared was pretty sure that was the least important tidbit in the story. He backtracked. “Wait, you use to do fortune reading?”

****

“I made quite the killing too,” Misha nodded, as he flipped through Jared’s drawer of take-out menus (his mother would set them on fire should she ever see them, and then maybe him too). “Use to go down south for Mardi Gras, and make thousands a day just walking through the streets, reading for tips. Eventually I broke off from my mom, started traveling on my own, hawking my talents. I picked up a few new trades on the way, met some crazy people.

****

Then one day, I’m in some rinky-dink down,  and a lady comes up to me and asks ‘what do you know about ghosts?’ At that point, I didn’t know much. I mean, I knew I could see them, but that’s not all that special, actually.  But it was a start. That was the first haunt I scoped. I got the ghost out; I just asked it to leave, and that was that. Eventually I met up with Rob and Rich, and it’s been history ever since. How’d you get into physical fitness?”

****

“It’s not as cool a story,” Jared admitted, as Misha put the order through for far to much (and yet never enough) Thai food. He gave him a minute to finish and hang up before continuing. “I moved out to California with big aspirations of becoming a movie star. I took a part-time job at Wessons to pay bills.  I was there for a year, when they told me they did scholarships for employees that wanted to do go to school for relative education. So I picked physical fitness and nutrition and that was that. My parents were thrilled, as the whole movie-star thing wasn’t really working out anyway.”

****

They sprawled out across Jared’s sectional couch, as they waited for their food. “Did you do any acting?” Misha asked, as he buried his socked feet in between the cushions. “Anything I might have seen?”

****

Jared flushed; he could feel it burn right down his chest. “I did a few commercials, and one pilot that never took off. But uh, I kind of called it quits when I found myself in some seedy back alley ‘office’ with some guy trying to casting-couch me into pizza-man porno. I told my manager to eat a dick,” he admitted. Overall, it wasn’t his fondest memory. He wasn’t sure why he was telling Misha; he hadn’t even told Chad. But then, he could probably trust Misha not lord it over him for all of eternity, unlike Chad. Hopefully, anyway. “Which, considering the work he was sending me out for, might not have been the best choice of wording.”

****

Misha stared at him for a long moment and Jared couldn’t help but feel like he was being judged. But then, Misha nodded lazily, and tilted his head to the side. “I did a porno once. One of those gay-for-pay things.”

****

“Don’t you have to be straight for that?” Jared asked, stupidly. He busied himself by burying his feet into the cushions beside Misha, and reaching for the remote on the table. ‘Not that...I mean, I guess you could be bi. I’ve never heard you talk about women though.”

****

“I’m am bi,” Misha admitted, with a laugh. “But gay-for-pay doesn’t really background check. They just want seemingly straight-males to do gay stuff on camera. They paid me fifteen hundred dollars to suck my own dick on camera.  It was worth it since you know...blowjobs. It was basically a fifteen hundred dollar blow job gave myself. I tried to figure it out once; if I pay myself to give myself a blow job, is that prostitution?”

****

Jared choked. “You can suck your own dick?”

****

“I can suck just about any dick, mine included. Although, you know, I try to be choosey.” He winked at Jared, and then stole the remote. “I like to dream big, you know?” Jared absolutely did not blush, except for when he totally did.

****

Was Misha flirting with him?

****

 

Jared couldn’t let go of the idea. Not through their dinner-lunch, their disco-nap, or their drive to the haunt-cite, fifteen minutes south of his neighborhood.

****

“You’re being weird,” Misha said, with a deep frown. “You’re getting gray all in your yellow and blue.I thought we talked about this. I promise I’m not all up in your brain; it doesn’t work like that.”

****

How does it work, Jared thought. “I’m not weird,” he said instead. Misha gave him a deeply dissatisfied look, clearly not buying the lie. “It’s not that. I’m just...thinking.”

****

“You’re making storm clouds,” Misha mumbled, as he headed for Rob and Richard’s car parked in front of the possibly haunted house.  He stopped for a second, and sighed. Jared had never seen him so...frustrated.  He supposed feeling other people’s junk all the time could do that too.

****

“Sorry,” Jared said, struggling to find a sense of calm in his own head. “Sorry.”

****

Misha sighed again. “Nah dude, I’m not a thought-police. It’s just...I can sort of feel that you’re waffling over something. And just...look. Don’t make this a habit, because I don’t do it often, but whatever you’re asking yourself, the answer is yes.”

****

Jared froze. “You uh...you know---”

****

“What you're waging war over in your head about? No. I just know that the answer is yes.” He gave Jared a helpless sort of smile. “I can’t explain how I know except for maybe you already know the answer is yes and you’re not ready to admit it. But, the answer is undeniably yes. It’s a neon-pink glowing, blinking, seven foot sign above your head of distracting yes-yes-yes. It’s practically a singing telegram.”

****

Jared swallowed. “Oh.”

****

“Great; accept that it’s a yes, and no more waffling.” Misha slapped him on the back. “Alright, good. Good talk. Let’s go bust some ghosts.”

****

 

Jared could accept it just fine.He just had to figure out what to do with that answer. But...that answer was easy too. Nothing. He’d do nothing because he had Gen. Easy. Right?

****

Right?

****

“Jesus Jared,” Misha called out. “What did I say about waffling?!”

  
  
  
  
  


*

****

Jared didn’t realize his relationship was on the rocks until it fell off the cliff.

****

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” Misha said, as he opened the door of his utility closet with a frown. He looked a little sleep-muzzy; hair a wild mess, and stubble heavy on his chin. “Aren’t you suppose to meet Gen?”

****

Jared froze. “Shit. Shit.”

****

He scrambled for his phone. Gen picked up on the first ring, and he could almost see the pissy look on her face, when she spoke. “You’re late. They gave our table away,” she huffed. “Did you have to work late?”

****

He considered lying, but.... “No. Shit. Sorry Gen, I forgot. I’m up on Walcot Row---”

****

“At the porn shop,” Gen supplied, voice growing tighter. “Right. You stood me up to go ---”

****

“You know that’s not why I come here.” At least, Jared thought Gen knew that. “Hon---”

****

“You stood me up to go hang out with your boyfriend,” Genevieve snapped, and then sighed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. Look, we already lost our table. You want to rain-check, or something?”

****

“We could stay in?” Jared suggested, guiltily. “I could pick up dinner and a movie. We could meet at my place?”

****

Gen snorted, and Jared hated the sound. “Let’s just call it a night, Jay. Have fun with Misha I guess.”

****

Misha took that moment to step out of his utility closet, and usher Jared inside. “Privacy,” he mouthed. “You’re going to want it.”  He shut the door, leaving Jared alone in the little room.

 

“Gen.” He wasn’t sure what to say, only that letting her hang up was a bad idea. “I’m sorry.”

****

It was quickly apparent that was the wrong thing to say. “That’s kind of the problem. You’re always sorry.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t think this is working out any more Jared.”

****

Jared knew that his response would be pivotal. He knew he should protest, he should promise to do better, to be better. Instead, he agreed. “Maybe you’re right.”

****

“Wait, what?”

****

“You’re a good girl Gen,” Jared found himself saying, hands shaking with nerves. “But...if you think we’re not working out any more because I forgot our date, maybe you’re right. I’m sorry I forgot, but you’re sort of being ridiculous. Just because we lost our table, doesn’t mean we can’t still spend time together.”

 

“Ridiculous? Jared, you’re never around anymore. You never want to do anything but bumble around in your shitty house fixing stuff. Excuse me for not wanting to sit on the couch and watch stupid Dawn of the Dead with you, while your goddamn dogs ruin my shoes. Again.”

****

He blanched at the memory. “That was one time. And I bought you a new pair.” He’d shelled out three hundred dollars for a pair of ivory cream Manolo Blahnik’s . Genevieve had gone so far as to sweetly suggest would match with almost any wedding dress. Which might not have freaked Jared out as much as it had, if they’d been dating longer than a month. “And what the hell is wrong with my house?”

****

“Have you seen it? I mean, I get that some people like fixer-uppers, but why couldn't you just get a condo in the city like a normal person? Why would you want to live next to a bunch of octogenarians?”

****

“At least I could buy a condo in the city if I wanted too. How many credit cards have you maxed this year, Gen?  Sorry my house isn’t posh enough for you.” Sorry I’m not the sugar daddy you were looking for when you bought a gym membership you couldn’t afford, he thought to himself. It wasn’t even a lie; Jared had quietly footed that bill when Gen had missed two monthly membership fees in a row. Her thank you to him had been insisting they go on a date. Which he’d paid for.

****

“I paid off all my cards,” Gen snapped. Which was also true, thanks to Chad’s surprising financial help. It had meant a significant amount of money not being spent on designer shoes and downgrading from a Jetta to a Kia, but Gen had got her shit in order.

****

And if Jared made a few of those credit card payments for her, well bringing it up would only make him feel like a tool now, so he didn’t. “Congratulations, Ms. Cortese,” he said instead, “you’re a real live adult!”

****

Gen railed on like Jared hadn’t even spoke. Which was actually pretty typical of her. “All you ever want to do is stay home. You never come to my friends parties, or go out with me. You’re more interested in ghost hunting then you are spending time with your friends.”

****

“Your friends,” Jared corrected sharply. “The ones who refuse to hang out with Chad, who actually is my friend. And they’d probably snub Misha and Jen too. It’s not like you go out of your way to do shit I want to do, Gen.”

****

“Why would I want to go play make-believe in dirty houses with dirty hippies?” Gen snorted rudely.

****

Jared found that he’d had enough. “You know what Gen? That’s my house, my dogs and my friends. That’s my life you’re hating on. Why were you even with me in the first place?”

****

“When you put it that way Jared, I have no fucking clue,” Gen hissed. “Because from where I’m standing, your dick is about the only thing you’ve got going for you.”

****

Jared’s mouth snapped with a click. “Well maybe that’s why we worked out for as long as we did because the only thing you’ve got going for is how far you can spread your fucking legs.”    

****

The only sound to follow was Gen’s sharp intake of breath. They were both silent, surprised by Jared’s words. He wasn’t that kind of guy, but Gen had was bringing out the worst him. “Holy shit Jay,” Gen said, her voice lacking it’s previous censure. “Way to grow some balls.”

****

“What?”

****

“Dude, I just shit on your whole fucking life and you let me,” Gen said, with a laugh. “You’re idea of being mean is to bring up my credit score. But I compliment your dick, and you freak out? God. God, Jared. What the hell are we doing?”

****

“I don’t know what just happened,” Jared said, cautiously. “One minute we were yelling, and now you’re laughing and...Yeah. I got nothing. Gen?”

****

“Shit.” She sighed. “Shit, Jay. I don’t know what to say. We never fight.”

****

“Apparently we should have.” Jared leaned back on Misha’s bed, and stared up at the pictures pinned to the ceiling. The faces were recognizable now; Jensen, Rob, Rich, Collin.... “Seems like you had a lot to say.”

****

“I’ve been thinking about breaking up for a while,” she admitted. “But...you’re such a good guy.Like, really good. But not for me, I guess? I don’t want fixer-uppers and dogs and movie-nights.”

****

Jared made a face. “But I was never really into partying with your friends. I don’t know why you’d think I’d be into that now. I don’t know what I could have done to make you think that.” He hated the idea that he might have lead her on, but he couldn’t see how that was possible.

****

“I know. I was just kind of hoping I could...convince you, or something. I don’t know. You’re a super hot fitness instructor. What kind of girl wouldn’t want that?” Gen laughed, and it sounded less hurt now. “So maybe I was just hoping that I could bring you to the dark side or something. But you’re sort of a soccer mom.”

****

Jared huffed, but smiled. “I am not.”

 

“You drive a Prius,” she teased. “It’s a hybrid, Jared! You’re a giant Texan. Shouldn’t you drive like...a big gas-guzzling truck or something?”

****

“They’re eco-friendly!” Really, Jared didn’t see what was so wrong about carrying for the environment while getting thirty-three miles to the gallon. “And I needed a hatch-back. Sadie has a bad hip; she’d never be able to jump into a truck bed.”

****

“Like I said; you’re a soccer mom.” This time, there was no insult to her words. “So are we really splitting up, or what?”

****

He heaved a sigh, and closed his eyes. “Guess we are. Chad will be happy. He hates your guts.”

****

“The feeling is entirely mutual,” Gen assured him. “So I guess this is it. I mean...I don’t really have anything at your house...”

****

And didn’t that speak volumes about their relationship? They’d been together half a  year. Jared was pretty sure he had shit at her house, but nothing he couldn’t live without. “I guess. You still gonna come by the gym?”

****

She paused for a moment. “Probably not. I think it’s probably time I find myself a new hot fitness instructor. One who likes condo’s and martini’s and is allergic to pet dander.”

****

“So it’s all pets, just not my dogs?” Jared laughed, small and breathless.

****

Gen laughed too. “I thought we were going to get married,” she told him, with heartbreaking honesty. “Part of me thought you were going to ask me.”

  
“I...I hadn’t thought about that, actually.”  
  
“Yeah,” Gen said with a sigh. “Part of me knew that too.”  
  
With a congenial, prefunctuary parting, they hung up. Jared felt strangely numb. She’d been thinking marriage? He hadn’t even considered it. How had they come to be on two completely different tracks? He and Gen had only been together six months, but he’d thought they were happy. Sort of happy. So, a few concessions had to be made, but relationships were all about compromise. It was all about the give and take. Sometime you just had to give more.  
 ** **  
****

“That’s a bunch of shit,” Misha said from the door. “When you find someone that works, no not works....someone that fits just right,  it’s not about compromise. It’s not about give-or-take. You have to want the same things, or shit gets bitter. It becomes ‘I gave up this or that for you blah blah blah’.”

****

Jared gave him a startled look. “Uh....”

****

“Sorry, sorry. I’m not digging, I swear.” Misha shrugged. “I don’t actively go through people’s heads, you know? That’s rude. You were sort of mumbling to yourself.”

****

“Sorry,” Jared muttered. “I should probably get going.”

****

Misha squeezed himself into the room, and pulled the door shut. “Eh. You could. Or you could stick around. We can watch Dawn of the Dead on my laptop and make Jensen go get us a pizza.”

 

He snorted. Either Misha had been eavesdropping outside the door, or he was digging around Jared’s head. It was probably the former, but with Misha, you never could be sure. “There isn’t much room.”

****

Misha flopped down on the edge of the bed. “Pff. Move your fat ass and there’ll be plenty. Seriously, scoot the fuck over guy; this bed is mine.”

****

He made a face, awkward and unsure. Misha’s bed was tiny, and Jared was a big dude. But if Misha didn’t think it was weird, well then...maybe Jared needed to loosen up. Still. “I’m not really comfortable spooning with you Misha. I mean,you haven’t even bought me dinner.” Even as he spoke, he scooted, until he was pressed tight against the wall. The position wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, but his own awkward tension was.  

****

“Hey dude, I’m your bro. I’m your buddy. It’s my manly duty to console you in your time of lady-feels and manpain.” Misha wriggled down on his wedge of the bed, and toed his shoes off onto the floor. “Will it help if I let you pay for dinner and say no homo?”

 

****His couch would probably be more comfortable of course. And his flat screen was a hell of a lot better than Misha’s computer. But still, Misha wanted him there, so....Jared stayed. “Couldn’t hurt.”  
** **

 

“No homo, then. Jensen! Pizza!”

****

*

****

He wasn’t sure when they fell asleep, but he woke to knocking. “Mish,” Jared grumbled, pushing at Misha. “Get the fucking door.”

****

“Don’t wanna,” Misha grumbled. “S’probably pizza. It’s open!”

****

The door opened with it’s usual creek. “Wow,” Gen said, and suddenly Jared was wide awake. “When I called him your boyfriend, I was making a joke, not a suggestion.”

****

He rocketed up in bed, slamming his forehead on the corner of one of the shelves.  
“Shit, fuck.” He rubbed his head, wincing when his fingers came back wet with blood. “What are you doing here?” He didn’t mean to sound so accusing. He tried again. “I mean, uh. I mean what are you doing here?”

****

Misha looked between the pair of them, before shifting awkwardly on his feet. “I’ll...I’ll get you some ice for that. I think Jensen has a first-aid kit, too.” He squeezed out the door, and past Gen without another word.

****

“Wow. Um. Huh.” Genevieve blinked at them, and then cleared her throat. “I thought you might want your key back. I called your house, but Chad answered -seriously, does he like fucking live there or something?” She shook her head before he could answer. “He said you were here still so I...figured I’d just drop it off. I wasn’t expecting...I don’t know what I was expecting. Misha lives in a closet? I thought he just...I don’t know, hung out here a lot.”

****

“Sometimes,” Jared said, swallowing hard. His throat was weirdly dry. He took the key, and dropped it on the box Misha used as a bedside table.“Thanks I guess. I uh...you never gave me a key to your apartment.”

****

“No I didn’t,” Gen said, without any inflection. “Do you have a key to this...this closet?”

****

Jared wasn’t sure how to answer that, but his eyes flickered to the heavy brass key hanging beside his car-keys anyway on the doorknob anyway. Misha had given it to him one day when he hadn’t any pockets of his own to shove it. He’d never taken it back.

****

Gen noticed too. Jared tried not to feel guilty. “Did you uh...was that all?”

 ** ****  
**“Yeah,” Gen drawled. “Yeah, that was everything. Have fun in the fucking closet, Jared.”  


She stalked off, through the isles of lube and dildos. Misha caught her by the counter, but Jared couldn’t hear what was being said.  Whatever he said though, had Gen reeling. She slapped him across the face, the loud smack audible even over loud, pulsing music Jensen liked to play.

****

“Have a good day,” Misha called out, loud enough for Jared to hear. Red had spread out across his cheek, vibrant across his pale face, and in the shape of a hand. Misha paid it no mind. “Oh hey, our pizza’s here. Jared! Our pizza’s here.”

****

 

“Awesome,” he called back, giving Misha the thumbs up.

  
  


He decided then and there that it wouldn’t do him any good to dwell. He’d always been the type to...well, mope for the lack of a better word, after a split.  He never really liked to be alone. But, while breaking up with Gen sucked...it was done with. Over.  There was no point in crying over spilled milk, as they say.

****

That was that.

 


	5. Chapter 5

  
  


*

  
  


As it would turn out, that really was that. The split with Gen barely registered in his life. Nothing seemed to change. His lunch-times at Westons were no longer interrupted with demands for sushi or salad bars.  But, he didn’t lunch alone. Most days, Misha dropped in, and they hit whatever greasy diner or dive-bar they felt like.

 

Worst, or maybe it was for the best, he hadn’t realized their sex life had taken such a recent hit. Even with Gen gone, Jared wasn’t noticing much of a difference.  Mostly, breaking up with Gen meant Fridays were his to do as he pleased, and he could wear his ratty jeans and flip-flops whenever he wanted. Because, in the event that Chad or MIsha managed to drag him out, it certainly wasn’t anywhere with a dress code.

 

It should have concerned him how much he didn’t care about the break up, except he was too busy being happy to remember he was alone now.

 

They say you can’t appreciate a good thing until it’s gone. Apparently, the same can be said for the opposite. Jared hadn’t realized how miserable he’d been with Gen, until he realized how content he was without her.

*

  
The day Jared woke up with a dick pressed insistently up against his hip, and a hand under his shirt on his stomach, he forgot to find it odd. After all, his ghost had been trying to round second base for months now.  Normally, he’d flail and fall out of his bed as he sprinted for the door. Today, or rather tonight (or rather four thirty in the morning), he was too drunk to respond accordingly.  It had been a long night of intern-training. Jared wasn’t exactly an intern, but Rob, Rich, and Misha had put him through the ringer nonetheless. Intern training involved a lot less ghosts and way more tequila than you’d think to assume.  Jared couldn’t actually remember how he got home, only that he asked if what they were doing was legal four or five times before someone gave him a burrito to shut him up.   
  
So no, he didn’t flail or sprint, or scream like a girl. Jared rolled over to his half of the bed, nuzzling his face down into the pillow there. “If you weren’t already dead,” he slurred, swatting at the ghost, “I’d worry about the lack of blood flowing to your brain.”   
  
He didn’t expect an answer, too drunk to realize he had never spoken with the ghost before.  So when it cleared its throat roughly and rolled away from him, Jared should have found it odd. “Well this is awkward,” the ghost said in a voice that didn’t belong to the ghost at all.   
  
Jared blinked, and looked up from the bed. “Misha?”   
  
“You were expecting someone else?” Misha blinked at him, his chin dark with stubble, and his hair mess of curls and cowlicks.   
  
Jared couldn’t quite form the word ‘yes’, so instead, he settled for squishing MIsha’s head into the bed, and promptly falling back asleep.   
  
When he woke, really woke, it was to the buzz-saw sound of Misha snoring beside him. Which didn’t make any sense, because Misha had taken to sleeping on the floor beside the bed in a nest of pillows when he crashed at Jared to scope out his ghost.   
  
Jared panicked for a moment, grappling to take inventory of his clothes. He was fully dressed, from shoes to shirt, and caked in mud, and who knew what.  So he and Misha hadn’t done anything. Once the panic of that receded, he found himself panicking over panicking that it might have happened at all, that it could have been a possibility.   
  
Because...because. Just because. Because it wasn’t.   
  
Except for that Gen’s words were in her head, and Misha’s mind-fuck answer to a question he hadn’t asked. They were in his head, swimming around like fish in a pond, growing bigger, and bigger, too big for the water supplied.   
  
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, in a vicious rotating cycle of stewing and navel gazing. It wasn’t until Misha sat up beside him, scratching absently at the mud-free stomach of his own shirt, that he was pulled from his thoughts. “I had the weirdest dream, just now.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Jared busied himself by toeing off his shoes and trying not to think about the state of his bed, and probably a good portion of his house.   
  
“Yeah.” Misha stretched, cracking his spine with a quick one-two-three pop-pop-pop’s. “Me and Genevieve were goldfish. We were in this little bowl of water. Then I ate her.”   
  
Jared felt his heart hammer in his chest. “Yeah, that’s pretty weird. I’m going to grab a shower. You can use the downstairs half bath if you want, or you can wait. Whatever you want.”   
  
“I’ll...change the sheets.” Misha frowned at the messy bed, a muddy Jared, and his own mostly clean self.  He made a face and reached under his pillow, extracting a half-eaten burrito. “What the hell did you do last night?”   
  
*  
When Jared stood beneath the water faucet and found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss a dude. Not Misha, just...a dude in general, someone he could find attractive. As a fitness instructor and nutritionist, it was pretty much his job to admire a person's physique, both male and female.  He never had a problem considering men attractive, in a way that didn’t send him spiraling into crisis. So why now?  As well versed as he was in anatomy, there wasn’t much he hadn’t seen.  Coupled with the fact that he had no issues with gay people, or bi people, or transgender people, or anyone really, Jared didn’t think he had a problem there.   
  
Thinking about kissing just any dude didn’t help. Jared couldn’t picture it, couldn’t get his head to settle on someone random, or someone unexisting.Without warning, his thoughts took him to Misha, with his wide mouth, rough stubble, and perfect teeth.  He flushed, realizing just how much he’d noticed Misha’s mouth and found that imagining kissing Misha wasn’t a hardship at all. Misha was an attractive man, one Jared found in his bed a lot, up close and personal and openly bi.  
  
Jared felt...tangled. Everything was a mess. Was he only having these thoughts because of Gen’s accusations, and Misha’s flirting? Were they implanted ideas, or ideas that would have come to fruition regardless?  Was it Misha’s bisexuality and friendly nature causing Jared to reconsider his own? And if it was, was it because of Misha or...or because of Misha. Jared didn’t know how to explain it. Was it physical, or was it more?  
  
Whatever it was, it was Misha. Or well, it was Jared. But Misha had him tangled in ways Jared had never known before.  With women, it was easy break down, by personality, attraction, and compatibility. Jared wasn’t sure how to look at it objectively; Misha was just Misha, a category all his own.  He was just as hilarious and witty and sharp as he was awkwardly attractive, and maybe Jared’s best friend. Except, that was Chad. Jared was sure that was Chad.   
  
So, what did that make Misha?  
  
He trudged downstairs in his boxers, having forgotten his load of clean jeans in the washer the day before. “Hey Misha,” he called out, as he hit the bottom stair.   
  
“Sheets are in the washer; seriously I don’t know how we slept in that,” Misha called back, a moment before he stepped out of the laundry room. “Put your pants on, you man child.”   
  
“We should go out for breakfast.” Jared took the jeans from Misha’s hand and didn’t bother asking how Misha knew. “You grab a shower; I’m going to take the dogs for a run”   
  
He was hopping on one leg, wiggling into strangely-small jeans when he saw her, standing in his front room with a box in her hand, and a pinched look on her face. “Genevieve,” he squeaked, jeans trapped around his thighs. He stumbled over Harley, nearly falling on his face. “What are you doing here?”   
  
She blinked, red mouth falling open once or twice before she cleared her throat. “Your stuff,” she said, and her voice was strangled. “I tried calling you yesterday but it kept going to voicemail. I was just going to leave it on the porch but your door was like...wide open. I was kind of worried, actually.”  
“Oh.” Jared spared a moment to be thankful his dogs weren’t runners, and another to curse himself for getting so drunk. “Yeah, sorry. I wasn’t ignoring you. My battery died at work and I forgot I lent my spare to Chad.”   
  
Misha poked his head out of the arch between the front room and dining room. “I uh...I gave you my jeans. Here.” He tossed another pair at Jared, and glanced at Gen with a strange look splashed across his face. “You know what they say about assumptions,” he told her, and Jared frowned.  
  
Gen balked for all of a second. “Well what am I suppose to think!” She threw up her hands, and gritted her teeth. “Have fun...wearing each others pants and washing your dirty sheets together, I guess. Christ.”   
  
“Wait, that’s not...” Jared reeled. “That isn’t...that’s really not what it sounds like.”   
  
“Sure Jared,” Gen said with insincere sweetness. “Whatever.”   
  
Misha made a rude noise, like a growl and a grunt all rolled into one. “It’s like you want him to be gay, so you can feel better about him dumping you.”   
  
“Mish,” Jared muttered, shaking his head. “Let it go.”   
  
Misha looked unimpressed. “She should let it go. You two aren't compatible. She tried to make you fit when you didn’t; it wasn’t fair to either of you. She wants you to be gay so she can reassure herself that she wasn’t the problem, that it was you. If you’re gay, that means she didn’t do anything wrong.”   
  
Genevieve blushed an attractive, blotchy shade of red. “Get out of my head, freak.”   
  
“Genevieve!” Jared snapped. “Misha, back off. Jesus, both of you, enough. Gen; we broke up because we wanted different things.”   
  
“Yeah I don’t know about that,” Gen said nastily. “I think we both wanted the exact same thing; a man.”   
  


“If you think calling me gay is some sort of insult, you’re mistaken. You can think I’m gay all you want, if it helps you sleep better at night.” He tried not to feel totally ridiculous where he stood, legs caught in Misha’s pants, wearing neon yellow boxer briefs. He couldn’t bring himself to protest her accusations, not with everything brewing in his head lately. But still, he couldn’t claim them as truth either. Mostly, he figured Gen was upset, and acting out. He’d let her have that. “We broke up because you wanted a sugar-daddy club rat, and I wanted someone to settle down with. It had nothing to do with Misha. Mish...” Jared wasn’t really sure what to say. “Just...let it go, okay? You don’t need to defend me.”

  
Misha’s eyes narrowed, not at Jared, but at Gen.  Jared had never seen him look quite so...so mad. Misha was generally the epitome of not-mad. “You’re right. It’s not my problem she’s so bitter. Bitter,” he bit out, snapping his fingers at her. “Bitter and wearing last years reject shoes.”   
  
“Alright,” Jared cut in again, stepping between the two before it could shift to an all out catfight. Gen certainly looked ready to pounce, at any rate. “This has been fun and all, but I think it’s time for you to go, Gen. Misha, go take a shower.”   
  
Misha went, petulantly muttering as he made his way up the stairs. Jared took the box from Gen’s hands and gave her a tired smile. “It isn’t what you think, Misha and I. He’s just a buddy, a friend.”   
  
Gen rolled her eyes, red smile stretching across her face. It looked tired too. “Whatever Jared. It’s not my business anyway. We’re done.”   
  
“We could have been friends,” Jared said honestly, because although Gen and he hadn’t panned out as a couple, they’d had some fun times. It wasn’t just her pretty face that had made her like her in the first place. She was sharp and funny and Jared had considered her a friend once.   
  
Gen shook her head. “I’m not sure Misha will like that.”   
  
Jared frowned, but any reply he had fell flat, as Gen took her leave, pulling the door close behind her.   
  
*  
  


“So what am I here for, exactly?” Chad asked, for the fourth time. “In a musty old house, on a Friday night?”

 

It was too dark to see the pout on his face, but Jared knew it was there anyway. They stood in the unpaved drive of an ramshackled church, moon high in the sky. The air was hot, and wet; sweat curled Jared’s hair at his temples, and stuck to his skin.

 

He dropped a heavy coil of extension cords onto Chad's unexpecting shoulder. “You didn't have to come,” he said, for the fourth time. “We're helping Misha.”

 

“Why?” Chad blinked at him, as if Jared hadn't already explained, four times. “I mean, you're paying him to help you, dude. Not the other way around.”

 

Jared sighed. “I'm not paying him. Misha works for free. Which is why we're here. He's helping me, so I’m helping him.”

 

“Why the fuck am I here?” Chad whined. Jared was going to strangle him. “It's Friday night, Jared. And I’m in the boons at this sausage fest with you sac of sweaty testicals. Seriously, there is gay and then there is Misha. Doesn’t he have a fucking fag hag around here or something? Those chicks always put out.”

 

It was a wonder Chad had even lost his virginity, really.“Once again, Chad, you didn’t have to come.” Jared grabbed one of the heavier looking black canvas bag, and hitched it over his shoulder.

 

“Jared,” Chad said slowly, his voice serious like it only ever was when he was about to say something offensive. “You need to go out. With a girl. I know Gen dumped your ass because she thought you were dicking Misha, but that doesn’t mean you actually have too. I think he’s turning you homo.”

 

“That is not---” Jared reeled. “Did Gen tell you that, or did you come to that conclusion yourself.”

 

“Katie Kassidy told me,” Chad said with a shrug, like Jared should have known. “You know those two are like scissor sisters, or whatever. Total lesbians.”

 

“Don’t call Gen a lesbian. She’s my ex-girlfriend,” Jared grumbled, head still spinning from Chad’s revelation. He’d thought Gen had only spewed that shit to insult him; he hadn’t thought she honestly believed it.

 

“It’s no different than her calling you gay, dude.” Chad blinked. “Which she has been. Didn’t you wonder why that guy Mark Pella-whatever kept asking you out during your rotation for Spin-Class? He wants to stick it in your butt because Gen is telling everyone you're into that now.”

 

“No she isn’t,” Jared protested because Gen wouldn’t. She was...well, she was a bitch sometimes, but really, everyone had their moments. Jared was pretty sure he was about to have one now. “Why would you even say that?”

 

“Dude.” Chad’s voice was pitying, and that was probably the worst of it all. “After Katie told me what Gen said, I figured I’d go to the source. Look, she sent me this last week when I asked her why she broke up with you.” He held his phone up for Jared to see.

 

To: Chad

From: Whore

‘i dumped him before he could dump me for a dude okay now stop calling me chad seriously im going to call the police’

 

“That is...that’s not...” Jared swallowed, and shoved down the sudden rush of mortification that came with reading Chad’s phone. He knew Gen was upset, but he hadn’t thought she’d stoop so low as to... as too... Well, Jared wasn’t particularly insulted, but it was obvious Gen meant to hurt him, or his reputation at the gym or something. Jared couldn’t even think to correct the fact that the break up had been mutual. His brain was fried.“ Why is Gen set as Whore in your phone?”

 

“Because you’re my bro,” Chad said, punching his shoulder. “I got your back. Seriously dude, even if you go homo, you know you’re my bro right? But like, you don’t have too. Pussy is good. You should be in some pussy right now. Not a fucking creepy ass house.”

 

Jared blinked at Chad, and stared for a long moment. “I think we’re done here.”

 

“Awesome! Let’s hit up that---”

  
“No.” Jad sighed. “Not done here. Done with this conversation. But by all means, feel free to leave. Because I’m pretty sure if you don’t, I’m going to punch you in the throat. You didn’t think to tell me this shit like, a week ago?”

 

Chad gave him a hurt look, shoulders deflating. “I thought you knew.”

 

“Obviously I didn’t.” He narrowed his eyes at Chad, teeth clenched. “Tell me why you didn’t say anything.”

 

Chad threw his hands up in the air, and huffed. “Because I thought it was true, okay? And like...I don’t know. Dude, if you want to go gay, I got your back. Honestly, it’s...okay look. I thought you were kind of throwing me over the boat for a new best friend and it made me mad but when Gen said you told her you were into Misha, it was okay! Because you weren’t ditching me, you were just cruising for a new girl. Er. Guy. Whatever. So yeah, I figured it didn’t matter. I really don’t care dude,” he added, genuine acceptance evident in his voice. Which was...well it was nice and all (because Chad could be a douche), but also not the point. “But as far as I can tell, you’re not total-homo yet, so I figured you could probably use a good front-door lay before you start putting the back nine permanently with Misha. You guys have been getting pretty serious lately.”

 

So much. There was just so much wrong with the words spilling out of Chad’s mouth that Jared honestly wasn’t sure which to touch on first.

 

“Look,” he said slowly, as was sometimes needed when Chad was having difficulty understanding simple points. “First, I never told Gen that I was gay, or thinking about going gay. She drew that conclusion all on her own. Because I’m. Not. Gay.  Second, I dumped her. We dumped each other. But mostly I dumped her.”

 

Chad’s eyes went wide, and his mouth fell open. “So you are ditching me for a new best friend?”

 

“What? No. Misha’s just...he’s just....” Jared threw his hands up. “You’re still my best friend, ass hat. Even if you are like, a total Grade-A asshole right now, for not telling me that Gen’s been spreading rumors. Asshole. Misha is just...” Jared floundered, unable to come up with a word that surmised Misha Collins.

 

“Right,” Chad drawled, and winked at Jared. “Gotcha. Dude, I can keep a secret. You want to hide out in Narnia for a while, that’s cool. When you’re ready to come out of the closet, we can hit up that Tranny bar in Walcott. Dudes that look like chicks? That’s like gay-training wheels.”

 

“Chad I’m not---” But it was pointless. Chad wasn’t getting it. When Chad got an idea in his head, there was really nothing anyone could do about it. “Go in the house. Go in the house Chad, before I punch you in the neck.”

 

“Woah.” Chad lifted his hands in defeat. “Chill dude. Seriously.”

 

Misha appeared by the van, just as Jared had hopped out of the truck.  “Why didn’t I think of bringing you along before? All our interns are built like teenage girls. We need more muscle around here.”

 

“You need more boobs around here.” Chad grunted, before wandering off with the extension cord. Jared hoped they wouldn’t need it, because they probably wouldn’t be seeing it again. “Or more teenage girls. I don’t even care.”

 

“I didn’t invite him,” Jared told Misha, as an apology. “He just sort of...got in my car and wouldn’t get out.”

  
Misha grinned. “He thought you had cooler Friday night plans appropriate for the newly-single,” Misha explained, like he knew better than Jared did. Which, well maybe he did. “You were so vague, he had his money on a strip club. A gay strip club,” Misha added, making a face. “He thinks fag-hags are easy? I don’t know. I wish he didn’t scream his thoughts so loudly, because his mind confuses me. Some people just think loud.”  
  


Jared had been vague because he hadn't’ wanted Chad to come. That had kind of backfired.  “His mind confuses him.”

 

Misha grabbed the last bag in the van, and shut the door behind them. “But you love him anyway? How did that even happen? How did Chad score you as a friend?”

 

Again, Jared felt himself flush, gut clenching up in a way it only ever did when he was being over-complemented. Was Misha flirting again? The answer is undeniably yes.“Chad says he took one look at me and felt bad because of my loser face.”

 

“What’s the real story?”

 

“We met up at work; both started up at the same time, in the same position.” They headed toward the old rickety church on the far side of the cemetery. “Chad was a freshman in college at the time -he actually has a major in business, if you can believe it. Anyway, we were both put on morning lifeguard duty. One day, he just sort of followed me home, and it was like glitter. Once he was in my apartment, I couldn’t get him out.  It took me about four months to realize he was actually living with me. He still lives there; he kept the apartment after I bought the house.”

 

Misha held the door open, letting Jared head in first. “He didn’t try to follow you there too?”

 

“I offered,” Jared admitted. He’d actually insisted, but Chad was nothing if not stubborn. “Seemed like the right thing to do. I wasn’t sure he could cover the apartment rent by himself. Actually, I made him show me his bank statements and financial plan before I let him renew the lease. He worries me.”

 

The long, narrow foyer was dilapidated, but beneath the grime and shadows, it spoke of grandeur. A double staircase split at the upper landing, where two more staircases lead to a third floor. Jared took a cautious step forward, nearly tripping over an old, filthy carpet.

 

Misha paused at the staircase, hitching his backpack higher on his shoulders. “Why didn’t he want to take you up on your offer?”

 

Jared propped his own bags against the water-stained side-board beside the door. “Uh. He said that living with me wasn’t conducive to cruising chicks. I wear too much pink, or something. He was sick of people assuming we were together.” Which, considering everything Chad had just told Jared, only served to piss him off more. At Chad in specific. If anyone made them look gay, it was Chad, and his manly overcompensation.

 

Misha grinned knowingly. “That wasn’t why,” he stage whispered. “Girl’s kept asking him if you’d be into a threesome. Or openly wondering how big your dick is, you being twice his size and all. It was giving Chad a complex.”

 

Jared stumbled against a table. “What, really?”

 

Misha didn’t answer, just flashed him a wink as he pulled a walkie-talkie from his back pocket. “Minions to stage one, I repeat, Misha’s minions to stage one. Go time, five minutes.”

 

“Who’s all here, anyway?” Jared asked, as he unzipped the first bag. It was filled with battered looking camcorders and flashlights.

 

Misha looked up from where he was fiddling with with something else he’d pulled from his pocket. “New recruits.  Rob and Rich run a boot-camp for ghost-hunter wannabees. Actually, most of them are from Richard’s class. This makes up part of their final grade. Speaking of which, do you like that shirt?”

 

Jared didn’t really understand how that had anything to do with Richard's students. “I don’t dislike it.” Gen had hated it. Jared wasn’t sure he actually liked it, or wore it out of spite. Which, in retrospect,  probably spoke volumes about their rocky relationship.

 

It seemed to be the answer Misha was looking for. He pulled his knife from his belt, and cut a notch at the hem, before using his hands to tear a jagged strip from the front. The tear cut to the left, and ended up stripping the almost the entire bottom half of the shirt. “Hey!” He pulled it off, feeling oddly naked in just his white undershirt. “Well that’s useless now. What the hell are you doing?

 

“You look better without it,” Misha told him, as he kicked off one shoe, and tossed it toward the door with a loud clunk. “Seriously.”

 

“What are you doing?” Jared hissed, when Misha produced mason jar of bright red liquid from his backpack. “Is that theater blood?”

 

“No, it’s real.  Fake blood always smells too sweet. It's a dead giveaway.” He dripped the real blood across the floor, and snagged the strip of Jared’s shirt on a convenient-looking nail jutting from the side of the stair rail, before splattering the blood on the stairs too. “Relax, I got it from a butcher shop.  Okay, now scream?”

 

“What?” Jared honestly had no clue what was going on. He blinked. “Are you...Are you staging a haunting?” His stomach turned at the thought, as he watched Misha drop his flashlight on the floor with a red sticky hand. It left a trail of red as it rolled away, and bumped against the bottom step. “Misha, is this whole thing a setup?”

 

“Yes, but that’s not the point. Hurry up and scream. Hell, a grunt or a particularly pained moan would work, but just like...do it now.” He made a face at Jared, and then huffed. “Fine, we’ll do it the easy way.”

  
Misha pinched Jared’s nipple, and twisted. Hard.  
  


The sound that escaped Jared’s mouth was neither a scream nor a grunt. It wasn’t it a particularly pained sounding moan, either. Mostly, it was an unmanly squeak. But it seemed to do the trick. Misha smiled, pleased as punch, before yanking on one of the rusted wall sconces. A door, an actual door just like in the movies, popped open from the wood paneling. Misha pulled them both inside.

 

The false-wall poured out into a small room, not much bigger than Misha’s utility closet at Parlor. “Shhh, they’re coming.”

 

“What the hell is going on?” Jared hissed through his teeth. Misha wasn’t a fake, he knew that much (or he thought he knew that much). But what if everything else was? “This is all a setup?”

 

“Just this. We use this house to test the interns in a stressful, possibly hostile environment. They have to use everything Rich and Rob have taught them. Safely. Dumping a bunch of un-tested noobs into an actually haunted house would be just asking for trouble. This way, we know they’re safe, even if they don’t.  The fear is sort of the motivator here.”

 

“Oh.” Jared blinked. “That’s...that actually makes a lot of sense. The blood and stuff?”

 

“Whoever is leading the group always ‘goes missing’,” Misha whispered, moving carefully across the small closet, to the far wall. “Then we watch what the group does.”

 

“Aren’t Rich and Rob suppose to be dropping by later?” Jared asked, sidling up beside Misha. He had his face pressed to the wall, where a thin shaft of light poured in. A peep-hole, Jared realized. An honest-to-god peep hole.

 

“Yep,” Misha confirmed. “One of the interns will call them in a frenzy. They’re actually parked about a mile up the road right now, waiting for the call. Emily Perkins, she’s Richards TA, is playing the mole this time. She’s going to plant ideas in the interns head, see which ones take the bait.” He stepped back from the peep hole, and gestured for Jared to take a look.

 

“Ideas?” Jared stooped low, pressing his face to the wall. He could see Chad, clutching the strip of Jared’s shirt, his eyes wild and his face pale. “Like what?”

 

“Smells, sounds, shit like that. Like, she’ll say it’s cold when it isn’t, and see which interns agree with her. The mind is highly susceptible to suggestion in stressful situations. But a good hunter would take a moment to actually access before agreeing. It’s a good way to weed out the leaders from the grunts.”

 

Jared watched Chad swallow hard, as one of the interns waved their hands wildly. He looked so honestly scared, that Jared frowned. But then he remembered what a total douchebag Chad had been earlier, and he didn’t feel so bad. Chad wanted a fun night? Well, Jared could give him a night he’d never fucking forget. “This room have any other way out?”

 

Misha’s grin was wide and not a little wild. “I thought you’d never ask.”

 

As it was, there wasn’t just another door out of the tiny hidden room, but rather a hall with many doors. The interns were only just beginning their frantic, frightened search. “They’ll start splitting up,” Misha whispered, walking to the third door in the skinny, hidden corridor. “Which Is Bad Idea Number One. This is a pretty big group, so it’s going to be a three, or four way split. Which is better for us. More pandemonium that way.”

 

“Because they’re going to hear each other bumping around the house,” Jared hazard a guess. “And assume it’s ghosts.”

 

Misha beamed. “That’s right. Eventually, one of them will remember the lectures about friendly interference, and Walkie the other ones to get a location on them. That’s when they’ll start working together again. By then though, someone will have called Rich and Rob.  Look, you can see them through here.

 

Jared pressed his face to another peep-hole.  The hall he who found himself looking into was empty, but on the opposite wall hanged a mirror. Jared could not only see the group, he could see himself as well. “Seriously, Misha?”

 

“Cliche’s work for a reason.” The peep-hole looked out from the eyes of one of the many spotty looking paintings lining the wall, like something you’d see in a b-rate horror film or Scooby Doo. “That mirror is two-way, as well.”

 

It made Jared laugh. “Who’s house is this anyway? They just let you trample through it whenever you want? And the mirrors and walls and stuff?”

 

“I don’t mind.” Misha blinked, and then busied himself with his backpack. “The passages and hidden doors were built for the staff, but by the time I’d been born, there wasn’t any staff left to use them, and they’d been mostly forgotten.”

 

“This is your house?” It didn’t make sense. Misha lived in a utility closet. And while the house wasn’t exactly up to par, Misha was a licensed carpenter.

 

Misha just shrugged. “It belonged to my babushka. She got it when her fourth husband died, from what I’ve heard. I only ever met her once. She called me the ‘whore’s hellspawn’, because of my evil eye.” He tapped the point between his actual eyes, and smiled affectionately. “Man, she was nuts. When she passed, she left my brother Sasha like, a hundred grand or something. And to me, she left this house. She always did like Sasha better.” Words aside, it was clear that MIsha prefered the house over money anyway.

 

Jared blinked. He’d never heard Misha talk about his family. “I didn’t even know you had a brother,” he said, because everything else seemed to awkward to comment on. “Or that you were...what language is babushka? Russian?”

 

“On my mothers side.” Misha shrugged again. “You didn’t ask. Oh hey look, they’re splitting up.”

 

The group in it’s entirety had poured into the new hall. “I don’t know guys.” The quivering, nervous edge to Emily’s voice sounded so sincere, Jared didn’t blame anyone for questioning it. “I think we should stay together.”

 

“Good girl,” Misha whispered. “Hey, flip that switch there. The one in the corner.”

 

Jared did, and watched as the shaft of light pouring in from the peep-hole began to flicker before giving out completely. “Nice touch,” he said, with a wry grin.

 

“Added that one in myself,” Misha replied smugly. “You thirsty? I have drinks in my bag.”

 

The drinks Misha had in his bag turned out to be one very large bottle of vodka. After the burrito-and-mud incident, Jared should have known better. Should have, but clearly didn’t.

 

“Russian vodka,” Misha said, lifting the bottle up. “Babushka distilled it herself. It’s been fifteen years and I’m still finding them all over the house. Oh shit, come on, they’re headed upstairs.”

 

Jared was lead to a secret set of stairs, narrow and rickety. Along the way, Mish peeked out new holes, and knocked on walls. Jared even contributed with a low, pained grown. But that was more because he stubbed his toe, than anything else.

 

“We should go flush the toilets,” MIsha suggested, taking a sloppy drink from the open bottle before passing it back to Jared. “I told them earlier that only the upstairs master bath worked. If we flush it, they’ll be too scared to use it. Who ever pisses their pants from fear first, gets a fifteen dollar gift card to Starbucks and the privilege of wearing my yoga pants, if they should so choose.”

 

“That’s a weird prize for pissing yourself.” Jared found a random light switch, and flicked it. Cold air exploded around him, sending chills up his spine. Cold spots. Of course. “I hope it’s Chad.”

 

“It’s more like an apology than a prize.” Misha slid open a small hatch, waist-high on the wall, and reached his hand through. There was a smash, and Misha smothered a laugh when someone screamed. “Broke a vase,” he explained. “We buy them in bulk. After we hit the bathroom, we’ll lay low for fifteen or twenty minutes.” 

 

“Are we luring them into a false sense of security?” Jared asked, holding back a choked cough as the vodka burned it’s way down his throat. “Or is it because a ghost has to re-charge between...manifestations or whatever?

 

“Both actually.” Misha grinned, and knocked back another drink without so much as a grimace. “Smart and pretty. How’d I get so lucky?”

 

Jared honestly could not tell you why he blushed at that.

  
  


In silence, Misha lead him further into the house, through hidden channels between the walls. Jared had to duck low to avoid a majority of the cobwebs, but it was clear that the paths were well traveled by the foot-steps and fingerprints disturbing every dusty surface.  

 

“Here we go,” Misha said, pointing to a small alcove in the exposed walling. “It’s another two-way mirror but it opens, see?” He pushed on the mirrored window, letting it swing open over the sink.

 

Jared watched as Misha reached through the open window. He cranked the taps and smeared a bloody handprint over the edge of the sink. Jared snorted. “Two-Way mirrors in the bathroom are creepy, even for you.”

 

Misha grinned at him, unrepentant. “Actually, that one was there when I was a kid. It was the first one I ever found. I crawled up in the sink and jumped through it. Got lost in the walls for like six hours, before I found a false wll that let into the library.” He scratched his head thoughtfully. “Either Babushka’s fourth husband was was a creeper, or his staff was full of peepers.. Anyway, it’s what gave me the idea to add the others.”

  
“It’s like your own little funhouse.” Jared watched Misha press his hand to the wall and push, opening another door beside them. It poured out into a deep closet, full old fur coats and a few half-empty cardboard boxes.   
  
“We’ll have to cut across the bedroom; there’s a false door in the paneling, over by the lamp,” Misha said, before pulling it closed again. “But first...” He pressed his ear to the wall, and gestured for Jared to do the same. “Right on schedule.”   
  
“Do you guys hear that?” Jared heard Chad say, his voice higher than normal, and spectacularly shakey. “It sounds like the waters running. Did someone go to the bathroom?”   
  
“Maybe...it’s Misha and your friend?” a voice Jared didn’t recognize suggested hesitantly. “If one of them fell and got hurt, they might have come up here to get cleaned up.”   
  
“I don’t know,” Emily countered. “That was a lot of blood downstairs. If they went anywhere, it would have been the hospital.”   
  
“But there cars were still in the driveway,” the unknown intern argued. “And Chad said his friend would have called.”   
  
“Come on,” Chad snapped, and Jared almost felt guilty at the worry he heard in his voice. Almost. Vodka could kill a lot of things and guilt was one of them. He took another drink. “Let’s just check. It’s probably just one of those douchebags from the other group.”   
  
Over Misha’s head through the mirror, Jared watched as they bumbled into the bathroom.  Chad stopped short, making Emily and a petite red-head slam hard into his back. “Is that...blood.”   
  
“No, it’s strawberry jelly,” the red-head said, rolling her green eyes. “Yes it’s blood. See, it probably was Misha and your friend.”   
  
“But why would they leave the water running?” Chad argued. “Jared’s all super emo conscious about the earth and shit. He drives a kia. I’ve literally taken shits bigger than his car.”   
  
“Chad’s right, Kathrine. I don’t think it was them. There aren’t any towels or anything to suggest they came here to clean up or bandage a wound. I don’t even see a first aid kit.” Emily made a show of riffling through the cabinet under the sink.   
  
Chad reached over and shut off the taps. “Alright, if it wasn’t them, then...then maybe we should go back downstairs.” Jared commended him for not hightailing it out of the room, as shifty as he looked. “We should call that Rob guy. Doesn’t he do the ghost thing?”   
  
“The ghost thing,” Kathrine echoed, mouth pulling pinched. “We’re doing the ghost thing now! Honestly, why do you think we’re here? Why are you here?”   
  
“I just wanted some bro time!” Chad snapped back, throwing up his hands. Jared took another drink, to drown the new little flicker of guilt. So Chad might not have been the best of friends lately, but Jared also might not have been spending much time with him, either.   
  
“We’re not going to call Rob just yet,” Emily said, before taking a deep, calming breath. “Chad, get it together. Emily, stop yelling at Chad. He’s not an intern, he doesn’t know the drill.”   
  
“If he’s not an intern, or Misha’s boyfriend, then why is he here?” Emily asked, snottily. Jared decided he didn’t like her.   
“For the love of God, you too? See, see I told Jared everyone thought he was dicking MIsha, but no, he had to go act all surprise, like it’s the craziest fucking idea when it isn’t. It’s clear the guy has a boner the size of a blue wha---”   
  


Misha took that moment to slam his hand hard against the exposed wood. The walls rattled, and Jared was sure something fell off the wall out of sight when he heard an echoing smash.

 

“Oh holy god!” Chad squealed, shoving Emily and Katherine out of the way as he hauled ass out of the bathroom.  Even Emily shrieked a little, though whether it was due to suburb acting or genuine surprise, Jared couldn’t say.

  
*  
They continued their jaunt through the house, tiptoeing between the walls in a steadily increasing drunken-stupor. They moaned, and groaned, and set off all kinds of traps.  There were cold spots, and uneven floorboards, false-shadows and real lights. Misha had shown him a hall with one entire false wall set on a wheel-and-track system. It slid like a sliding-glass doors, swallowing up seemingly locked doors and making the hallway seem shorter. Another hall bleed from the ceiling at the push of the button. It was a pain in the ass to clean, but Misha assured him the interns would handle it, so bleed it did.   
  


Fully in the spirit, Jared had even reached through completely normal heater-vent and grabbed Chad’s ankle, sending him into a full-fledged panic through the house.  When Rob and Rich finally showed, Jared couldn’t say; he and Misha were hammered.

  
Their reign of terror was ended by the bottom of the bottle, at the bottom of a closet.  They tumbled out into the hallway in a tangle of limbs and laughter. “Shhh,” Misha hissed, in a stage-whisper. His face was smashed against the carpet. “They’ll hear us.”   
  
“A little late for that.” Rich stood over them, a smile stretched wide across his face.   
  
“Jared!” Chad looked down at him, blue eyes wide and shiney. “The hell!?”  
 ** **  
****

Jared squinted up at him, turning his head at an angle so he could eye all of Chad at once. “Why are your pants wet? Oh! Hey, congratulations. Starbucks. Yoga in your pants. What? Misha. Pants.”

****

“No mas,” Misha slurred in sketchy spanish. “I pissed in them too.”

****

Jared laughed, and rested his head against the carpet next to misha. “All the pants. Pantaloons.”

****

Raising one hand in a weak flail, Misha greed. “Piss all the pants! Pantalones!”

****

*

****

The opportunity to further investigate what made Jared’s own ghost tick presented itself that night, after Rob and Rich had dumped their drunken asses on Jared’s doorstep. Chad, from what Jared could tell, had hitched a ride back home with Emily, who had yet to be exposed as the mole.

****

They stumbled their way through showers and a hasty dinner of cold chinese and as much water as they could guzzle down without puking. By the time they were ready to pass out, much of the buzz had been curbed. He thought nothing of Misha following him upstairs, as the guy often made himself at home all over Jared’s house. But when Misha started making himself a bed of laundry and decorative pillows on the floor, Jared frowned.

****

They’d already shared the bed once, after all. It wouldn’t be weird to do it again. Or would it?  Jared had no idea. He had no idea how to offer anyway. He wondered if he’d done something to make Misha uncomfortable. Or maybe Misha knew he’d made Jared uncomfortable. Not that he had. Much. Not in a bad way.

****

“I could sleep in your bathroom,” Misha suggested, every word muffled against Jared’s second pillow and a pair of his jeans. “If you’d prefer. It’s bigger than my utility closet.” Somehow, he managed to sound perfectly magnanimous and sarcastic, all at once. It reminded Jared of his mother.

****

He shuddered.

****

“You could always sleep in the guest room,” He shot back, sliding between the blankets. “You know, that room I had made up especially for guests.”

****

“I’m still considered a guest?” Misha snorted, head popping up, so that only his eyes and shaggy head were visible. “It smells like Chad, and your bathroom has the good shampoo. Come on guy, I need to be here if the spirit shows.”

****

“You come up with anything yet?” He asked, wriggling down. Harley and Sadie settled themselves down on the other side of the bed in a pile, and he reached down to scratch them both behind the ears. “You never did say.”

****

When no answer came, he’d nearly thought Misha had fallen asleep. “...I’m playing it by ear.”

****

Jared rolled onto his stomach, and yanked his pillow out from under Misha’s head. “I could always sleep downstairs. You could have my bed.”

****

“You’re already in bed,” Misha grumbled. “Shut the fuck up and go to sleep, guy. No homo.”

****

Jared snorted at that, but rolled over so he could peer down at Misha. “It’s just...did I do something to make you uncomfortable?”

****

Misha opened his eyes, his face perfectly blank. “What? No. I just figured you know...what with all your friends thinking you’ve gone Polish. Or, you know, more polish than you already are. I’m trying to make a sausage reference here, but it’s not really working out. I figured you’d want some space since all your friends think you're gay now.”

****

“Oh.” Jared rolled back over, and stretched out across the bed. It felt weird to take up all the space, so he shifted over to his half. “Nah dude. They’re dumbasses. What do they know? Don’t worry about it.”

****

Misha didn’t say anything. He didn’t climb back up into bed either.

 ** **  
****Jared...wasn’t sure how to feel about that.  It shouldn’t have mattered one way or another, but it did. He was starting to suspect his friends knew more than he’d given them credit for.  
 ** ****  
**

*

****

 

Jared woke with a jolt. Misha was kneeling on the side of the bed, his warm fingers curled firmly over Jared’s elbow. “Can you feel it?” He asked in a rush whisper.

****

Jared shivered beneath the covers, and opened his eyes slowly.  The room was bathed in shades of blue. The moon cast slanted stripes of light across the walls, where it poured in through the blinds. “I don’t know. It’s cold.” It didn’t end at cold. The air felt charged, and tasted like blood on Jared’s tongue.. Aura, Misha had called that once.

 

“Some entities can draw energy from heat. It’s called partial thermal manifestation,”Misha explained, shifting on the bed beside him. Jared was instantly aware of where their bodies touched. He wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, just...very aware. “Can you feel it though? Not the temperature. Come on, guy. It’s right there. What do you feel?”

****

Tingly?” Jared flushed, and cleared his throat. “I mean, I’m all...tingly. I can’t explain it any other way. I feel like I’m going to fly out of my skin.”  It felt like a weird combination of post-tickling, and the sensation you might feel if you thought you saw something wriggling in your salad after you already ate half of it.

****

Misha nodded. “It’s adrenalin caused by an increase in EMF’s.” His breath was warm where it fanned across Jared’s face. “Some people are especially sensitive to it, remember? Which means not only will your laundry room freak you out, but when a ghost is drawing on energy, you’ll be able to feel it. In theory anyway; it’s not the same for everyone.”

****

“I can feel the hair on my arms standing up,” Jared whispered, resisting the urge to scratch at it. “And my heart’s pounding like crazy. What is it?”

****

“He’s in the room.” Misha’s eyes narrowed at the door. “He’s trying to manifest, but heat isn’t enough for a physical manifestation. He might start pulling from other sources. We already know that can.”

****

“I don’t normally see him. When I wake up, I mean. While he’s...uh, you know. Doing his thing. I saw him on the couch that once, and in the bathroom but...” The dogs began to whine, where they were still piled beside the bed. “Shhh,” Jared hushed them. “Go downstairs,” he urged. Sadie obeyed, but Harley turned a reluctant eye on him. “Go on, buddy. It’s okay. Go on.”

****

“Look,” Misha hissed, jerking his head toward the ensuite bathroom light. It flickered violently, the filament shattering with a sharp pop. “You don’t normally send the dogs out.”

****

“I’m not normally awake for this part,” Jared admitted tightly. The urge to run bubbled up faster inside him, legs twitching beneath the blankets. “I usually wake up once he’s.... Why? You don’t think he’d hurt my dogs, do you?” Molesting him and rearranging his canned goods were one thing, but Jared would wage unholy war over his dogs.

****

“He’s probably not even aware you have dogs,” Misha said with a snort. “Except, when you told them to go, I felt his...confusion, maybe? It was just a flicker. You don’t normally talk to the spirit, do you?”  

****

Jared blinked. “Um, no. Usually by the time I realize he’s there, I bolt.”

****

Misha turned his piercing gaze on Jared. “Why? And don’t tell me because it’s a ghost. Why is your first reaction to run? It’s not the EMF’s, because you manage to wash  your clothes without running out of your laundry room screaming every time you do a load of whites and the EMF’s are at least triple what your ghost manages to gather.”  

****

The easy answer was ‘hello, it’s a ghost’, but Jared had been suspecting it was more than that since he enlisted Misha’s particular help. “He....whenever he’s near me, I feel like I’m drowning or choking. I can’t breath. And I don’t know if it’s my actual lungs or...or....”

****

“Or?” Misha pressed. “Or what, Jared?”

****

Suddenly, the hallway light flickered. It hadn’t even been on. Jared’s old alarm clock began to blink and shudder too, numbers flickering and racing before it died, with a crackle and the strong scent of burning circuit boards.  

****

“He’s so sad, Misha.” Jared had felt it before, in little surges. But that evening, when the ghost had pressed him into the couch, and spoke with such a pained urgency, Jared couldn’t shake the lingering devastation from his bones. “Every time he touches me, it’s all I can feel.”

****

“Jared.” Misha’s voice was suddenly urgent, and sharp. The hallway light flickered and popped, stealing away the last any light not given by the moon. “Jared look, the door. Can you see him?”

****

“Can’t you?” Jared asked, fingers curling into the blanket. At the door stood the ghost, opaque but very much there.  Bald head, blue eyes, sad smile; everything Jared remembered. He stood there, eerily still and silent, head tilted to the side.

****

“No, but I can tell he’s there.” Misha wiggled himself away from Jared, until he occupied only a sliver of the bed, at the edge. “Don’t talk, pretend you're sleeping. Don’t run this time, okay? I’ll be right here. Just...don’t run until you can’t take it anymore. Let me get a feel for him, let me get...something. Anything.”

****

A moment later, Jared felt the foot of the bed dip a moment later, and a cold hand slide up his shin.  Misha grabbed his hand before he could haul himself off the bed. “Steady,” he whispered, in a voice so quiet, it was only a breath.

****

The ghost’s hand burned cold through his thin sleep pants, and Jared could feel where his fingers were curled into the material, as they tugged and pulled.

****

“Hey,” the ghost whispered, leaning over him. Jared willed himself to relax, to keep his eyes closed softly, and his breath even. “Babe?” The hand traveled from his knee, up his thigh, before settling on his hip. Jared couldn’t help the way his muscles jumped beneath the touch. “Know you’re awake.  Budge over, you’re sleeping on my side of the bed again.”

****

If it hadn’t been for Misha’s coaxing hand, Jared wouldn’t have been able to move. Except maybe to run.  But Misha was there, urging him along, until Jared’s back was flush against his front on the left side of the bed.

****

“Don’t open your eyes,” Misha muttered, mouth pressed right below Jared’s ear. Jared felt the ghost's hand twitch where it touched him. “Shh. It’s okay. He doesn’t know I’m here.”

****

That wasn’t what Jared was worried about, actually. He swallowed, and turned his face into the pillow wordlessly. Sandwiched between Misha and a ghost, there wasn’t many other places Jared could hide.

****

“You look kind of sweaty,” the ghost said, though Jared couldn’t see how that was even possible, considering he could see clouds of mist every time he exhaled. “You’re all clammy. You getting sick?” Misha chose that moment to pinch the back of Jared’s thigh hard, and he grimaced. That seemed to be answer enough for the ghost. “Shit. You should have told me. I’d have taken care of you.”

****

Misha shoved him forward, closer to the ghost. They weren’t quite touching, for which Jared was thankful. He wasn’t sure what would happen, but he was mostly sure he wouldn’t like it. The ghost moved forward too, so close that Jared could feel a new burst of cold across his face, where there noses must have nearly brushed.

****

“That’s all I want, you know. To take care of you.” Worse than the cold was the overwhelming rush of despair. “Where did you go?” The ghost asked. “Where’d you go, when you weren’t here?”

****

He didn’t mean to, but Jared opened his eyes. Blue eyes stared back at him, desperate and wild. “Where did you go,” he asked again, “when you weren’t here?”

****

He didn’t have an answer, but...he wanted one. Anything to make it stop, the sudden throb of hurt, and pain. HIs lips fell open, words desperate to spill out, but Misha stopped him. He covered Jared’s mouth with his hand, muffling the little huff of protest.

****

“Don’t talk,” Misha said quietly, and the ghost twitched again. “Not yet. You’re voice confuses him, remember? Close your eyes. Relax.”

****

Easier said than done. Jared let his eyelids flutter close, and pulled himself back, flush against Misha. He tried to smile, something small and soft, but knew he barely pulled off a shaky grimace.

****

But that seemed to work too. Instantly the ghost backed off, voice flowing with worry and concern. Underneath the constant thread of despair, Jared could feel love too. It was almost worse.

****

“Shit. Sorry. I should let you sleep.” A cold hand threaded through Jared’s hair. “Wake me up though, if you need anything. I’ll be here. Love you, Tommy.”

****

Just like that, the ghost settled in beside him. He waited a moment before opening his eyes, but when he did, the ghost was gone.

****

“What the actual fuck,” Jared said in a rush, scrambling out of bed -and away from Misha. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck. Did you hear him---”

****

“No,” Misha replied. “But I know what he said. Why are you freaking out?”

****

“I don’t know!” Jared threw his hands up in the air. If he thought he felt like he was going to fly out of his skin before, it was nothing compared to now.  “I feel like I’m going to puke. Why do I feel dirtier now, than I do when he tries to blow me?”

****

Misha rolled out of bed, and flipped the lamp on. The room looked weirdly more purple than it usually did, Jared noted, a little hysterically. “Because you just realized that this isn’t a ghost. Not just a ghost. It’s a person.”

****

Jared looked down guiltily. He’d known in a sense, that once upon a time this ghost had been a living breathing person. But he hadn’t realized that while the body was gone, the person was still there. “He called me Tommy,” he said, instead of acknowledging Misha’s truth. “That’s new.”

 

“We can work with that,” Misha nodded. “Hey, do you work tomorrow?”

****

Jared did. He had a morning shift with a group of rich, board Real Housewive’s wannabees. . “I think I might take a personal day.”


	6. Chapter 6

****  
  
** **

 

*

****

Misha drove Jared to Rob and Rich’s place. “It’s like eleven o’clock at night,” Jared argued, as they made their way up the stone path. He hadn’t realized until then just how short they’d cut their fake haunting.  It was still technically the witching hour. They were both in their pajamas. Misha hadn’t even bothered to put his shoes on.

****

Misha produced a key from somewhere (his holey gray yoga pants didn’t actually have pockets), and let them both inside. “But it’s summer. Richard steadfastly refuses to teach summer classes. Says if he wanted to work in summer, he wouldn’t have become a teacher. And Rob normally sleeps during the day, so he can be up for the Witching hours. He runs a twenty-four hour Ghost-Service, for emergency calls. He’s very dedicated to his job like that.”

****

They found both brothers in the basement, playing Mario Party on the Wii, a half-empty bottle of tequila tucked between them. Jared nearly forgot that the night ahdn’t exactly ended when Misha and Jared passed out. Rob and RIch had the interens over, in some strange post-hazing celebration. Misha grabbed Jared’s arm before they could announce themselves. “Whatever you do, don’t tell Rob or Rich about your dick being haunted---”

****

“You said my dick wasn’t haunted,” Jared hissed. “Misha---”

****

“It’s not...mostly.” Misha wrinkled his nose, and shrugged. “Okay, so maybe it’s a little haunted. I don’t know?! You got EMF all over your junk, guy. That isn’t something I have a lot of experience with, okay? I don’t know everything. Just don’t mention it to Rob or Rich. Or Sebastian. Or Emily. You know what? Don’t mention it at all.”

****

Before Jared could ask, Richard noticed them hovering in the door. “Hey, how’d you get past the alarm? You know what? Don’t care. Misha! Big Guy! Didn’t thing we’d see you for a while. Were you two even okay to drive?”

****

“This Jared?” An older guy in a grey V-neck shirt asked. He squinted at Misha, eyes glossy but bright. “I thought Misha said he wasn’t bringing him.”

****

Misha made a face. “I said I shouldn’t. But it was inevitable.”

****

“So it has been seen,”  Matt said ominously from where he was sprawled out, belly down on a bean-bag. “So it shall be.”

****

“You’d think considering the accuracy of your visions, you’d be able to tell me if it’s going to rain this week,” Richard commented, lightly.

****

“I don’t have the tits to be a weather girl.” Misha dropped down into one of the empty bean bags near the couch. “Someone get me a drink.”

****

“I can,” said a young girl, with shoulder-length, sand colored hair. Jared recognized her from the haunted house.It took Jared a moment to place her as Emily the Mole. “I was going upstairs anyway. Do you want anything?”

****

“Whatever he’s having is fine,” Jared told her, dropping down onto the bean bag beside Misha. “Emily, right?”

****

“Emily Perkins,” she said brightly, clearly pleased that Jared knew her name.“And you’re Jared.”

****

Jared blinked, and stared up at her where she stood beside him.. “Uh...yeah. Yep. That’s me.”

****

“Collin showed me your...evidence.” Her eyes skittered down his body, flickering back and forth between his stomach and his...not stomach. Jared tried not to squirm; he felt a little like a worm dangling in front of a fish. “Great picture, by the way. It’s all over the boards. You might even make the calendar!”

****

Sputtering, Jared turned to Misha. “There’s a calendar? You didn’t tell me there was a calendar.”

****

“You didn’t ask,” Misha told him blandly. “You’re going to be Mr. August.”

****

“Seriously?” Jared shot Emily a nervous look. She was grinning so hard, she was shaking. “That doesn’t sound like something I’d agree with.”

****

Misha waved Emily off toward the kitchen with a smoozy little smile and wink. “Technically you don’t have to agree. When you offered your photo up as evidence on the boards, it automatically became sole property of the site-owners, to use as they wished. It’s in the terms of use.” Misha flashed him a smile. “Our legal guy, Mark Sheppard, is a fucking shark. He also looks good in a wig.”

****

“I didn’t agree to anything,” Jared said petulantly. “Collin uploaded that picture.”

****

“With your permission. And really? Are you gonna fry a fourteen year old? Don’t be bitter. You would have been Mr. July if you hadn’t cropped your cock off. Everyone knows July is the hot-spot of the calendar world.”

****  
Jared scowled. “Do I at least put up a token fight?”  
  
** **

“Fifty percent of the proceeds go to Paranormal Psychology research,” Misha explained, stealing the Wii-mote from Rob when he lost. “The other fifty percent go to a charity of your choice. You pick the humane society, by the way.”

****

Resigned, Jared sank back into his beanbag. “That does sound like me.”

****

“Fuck Mario-Party,” Rob said suddenly, glowering at the TV. Jared got the impression he was a sore loser. “Let’s get drunk.”

****

The night went as followed.

****

One tequila.

Two tequila.

Three tequila.

KAREOKE.

****

And the first time Jared did not take Misha’s advice.

****

Let it never be said that the nerdy-types don’t know how to party.  While it was true that Jared wasn’t much of a club guy, he didn’t mind a good dive-bar on occasion.  Leaving behind the under-aged interns to hang around and babysit Collin, the rest of the crew headed out to Shenannigans, a little known local bar tucked away on Walcot Row, not six blocks from Parlor.

****

Rounds were bought, and shots were shot, and once again, Jared found himself plastered, and plastered to Misha’s side. Misha didn’t seem to mind or noticed, not that Jared saw, at least.

****

Richard and Matt were finishing up the last verse of Hungry Like A Wolf, while Emily and Rob demonstrated the Academy for the Socially Stunted lessons on inebriated co-worker flirting. “Is Rob Emily’s boss?”

****

“Only if she’s into it,” Misha slurred, as he dipped his index finger into Jared’s drink and licked it. “She’s actually Rich’s TA.”

****

“Oh.” Jared hummed and stared down into his molested drink for half a second before shrugging and gulping it down.  When he looked back across the room, he saw a strange man standing over Rich and Rob, his blotchy red face scowling and angry.

****

Richard had weaseled his way in between the man and Rob. He had one hand pressed firmly against the guy’s sternum, and his mouth was working a mile a minute.

****

“What’s up with that?” Jared asked, tipping his glass towards Rob and Rich. Fuzzy worry worked in at the edges of his brain, and he shifted in his seat.

****

Misha squinted across the room. “Emily took the guy for eighty five bucks at pool, and apparently he ain’t too happy about it. Rob said something, and the guy got huffy so Richard stepped in.”

Setting his drink down on the table, Jared pushed up out of his chair. “Should I go over there? I should go over there.”

****

“I’m going to say no.” Misha made a face. “No, no that’s a terrible idea. Sit back down.”

****

But Jared didn’t. He watched as the man shoved Richard, sending him slamming hard against the bar. In an instant, he was stalking across the bar, and tapping the guy on the shoulder just as he’d drawn back to punch Rob. “Hey man, why don’t you fuck with someone your own size?” He heard himself say.

****

The man spun on his heels, eyes widening as he sized Jared up.  Richard piped in helpfully, as he rubbed the spot on his back where he’d hit the counter. “This is my friend Jared. He’s a personal trainer.”

****

The guy’s eyes hardened, flicking back to where Jared had been sitting, where Misha was still sitting. “Why don’t you go sit down son,” he told Jared, dismissing him. “I ain’t going to go down for fucking with your kind. Fucking hate crimes and shit. Just get your little friend to give me my cash back, and we’ll call it square.”

****

Richard snorted. “You bet that money, and Emily won. That’s your problem.”

****

“She cheated---”

****

“At pool? You watched the whole game. She didn’t cheat. She beat you.” Richard shook his head, and waved his hand flippantly. “Get over it.”

****

“Wait a second. My kind,” Jared echoed, frowning. His kind? His kind what? “My kind? Personal trainers?”

****

“I think he means gay,” Rob said, sounding offended. “Seriously, guy?”

****  
“Your kind,” the guy said again, enunciating each words. “Fairies. I’m not going to jail for beating on some fucking faggot. So go back to your boyfriend, and let the real men handle their shit.”  
  
** **

“Gay dude. Right.”Jared blinked, casting a quick look at Misha who looked more interested in the barnuts than anything else. “My kind,” Jared said again, pulling himself up to full height. “Huh. Funny thing is I have no problem going to jail for fucking with your kind. And by that I mean ass holes.”

****

And then, Jared punched him in the face.

****  
*  
  
“I’ve never been arrested before,” Jared told Misha, as he wiped the ink on his fingertips across his jeans.   
  
Misha just grinned, as he pulled Jared’s Kia into Richard’s driveway. “What can I say? Life with me is full of adventure.”   
  
Jared conceded this to be a truth. “You knew that was going to happen, didn’t you?”   
  
“Oh yeah, I saw that one coming from a mile away.”   
  
Jared nodded; he’d assumed as much as they’d shoved him into the back of the police cruiser. Misha had told him not to do it. “Yeah.” He should have listened to Misha.   
  
“Seriously,” Misha agreed to what Jared hadn’t said. “But, it was kind of fun watching you defend...well actually I don’t know who’s honor you were defending. Emily’s, Rob’s, or Richards. Or Mine. Or yours.  You weren’t offended he called you gay.”   
  
“Of course not!” Jared huffed. “It’s not really an insult, true or not. I was more offended he assumed he could kick my ass just because I’m gay.”   
  
Misha made a noise. “Because he thought you were gay,” he said, with a glint in his eye.   
  
Jared hesitated for half a second, before deciding it didn’t matter. “Semantics. He thought he could beat me up just because he thought I was gay. Like being gay made me weak. That’s bullshit. So I punched him in the face.”   
  
“That’s ridiculous,” Misha said with a laugh. “You’re ridiculous. If you’d just stayed put, Matt would taken care of it. There was no need to get arrested over some bigot.”   
  
“Well, I think it was worth it,” Jared argued. “Maybe that dickbag will think twice about dismissing someone just because they're gay.”   
  
They headed down to the basement where Rich and Rob were already back on the Wii, a bottle of scotch shoved between them on the couch. “Hey, you think Mario Party could be a drinking game?”   
  
Sebastian grinned. “Shuffle board can be a drinking game if you try hard enough. Just get the shot glasses.”   
  
** **

The evening was still young, still on the green side of two am. He’d lost his buzz in the holding cell, but he had a feeling he was going to get it back.

****  
  
** **

He wasn’t wrong.

****  
  
  
  
  
** **

Jared woke up the next morning, half naked in Rob’s front shrubbery. Not his finest morning.  It didn’t hurt of course, that Misha was right there beside him, puking into a pot of mums while wearing Emily’s plaid mini. Jared couldn’t remember a time when he’d been drunk twice in one day.

****  
  
** **

Not his finest morning, no. But not his worst.

****

As for the night, well...Jared hadn’t had that much fun in a long time.

****

*

****

It wasn’t often that Misha dropped by the gym anytime other than lunch. Jared was surprised to find him waiting not-so-patiently in his office (perks of a personal trainer), with a stack of papers and a wild look in his eye.

****

“Rob found a possible hit,” he explained, waving the papers. “Last time he checked, the house was registered most recently to a John Patrick. But when he dug a little deeper, he found out that John Patrick had been a resident of Walbash for twelve years. Which means he wasn’t living in your house at the time of the fire. Someone else was.”

****  
“Renting,” Jared said, snapping his fingers. “It could have been a rental.”  
  
** **

“That’s what I’m thinking.” Misha rapped his knuckles across the desk. “If the house hadn’t been empty so long before you, I probably could have gotten a feel for whoever lived there before. People leave all kinds of things behind. Memories. Feelings. Little pieces of themselves. But all I can feel is you and that sad ghost.” He looked at Jared with almost hopeless eyes. “I’ve had hard cases before, but this...well, I do like a mystery.”

****

“Well, can we ask this John guy? Or is that weird?” Jared sank down in his office chair, and tugged at the collar of his work-out shirt. “Or illegal?”

****

“It’s weird and probably illegal,” Misha conceded. “But I’ve have done it already if I could. John Patrick died last year of a heart attack. He was fifty-four. No surviving children, no wife or significant other. The only surviving relative Rob found was a brother out in Nevada. And I have the feeling he was a brother of the estranged variety. They hadn’t spoken in years.” He threw his papers down on Jared’s desk with a disgusted sigh. “God! I feel like the answers are right there, but I can’t reach them.”

****

Jared got the sense that Misha wasn’t use to not knowing. He took pity on him. “I’m done for the day, just need to grab a shower. You want to stick around? We could go do something. Chad said something about a party.”  Jared didn’t actually feel like drinking (he’d been doing a lot of that lately), but if that’s what Misha needed, he didn’t mind taking one for the team.

****

Misha made a face. Jared was sure he’d never seen the man look more tired. “Can we just chill at your house?  You need to get some face-time in with your dogs anyway. They’re kind of pissed at you. Don’t you have a dog park up by your house?”

****

It was one of the reasons Jared had bought the house. “Yeah, actually. I haven’t got a chance to take them on a good run lately. You sure you don’t mind?”

****

“I like dogs,” Misha told his pencil cup. It struck Jared as odd. Misha had certainly never minded uncomfortably prolonged eye contact before. “Their minds are all simple. It’s like a palate cleanser. Dogs are basically my brain’s lemon sorbet.”

****  
He smiled at that. “My dogs run pretty hard,” Jared warned, grabbing his gym back out of the narrow locker shoved in the corner of his office. “I’m talking like, two hours. Sadie lags sometimes; shes’ got that bad hip. But like, if you can’t keep up, don’t sweat it. Actually.” Jared rummaged through his bag, and fished out a key from the bottom. “You should take that. That way if you want to head back early, you can just let yourself in.”  
  
Misha took the key with wide eyes, and Jared only realized why a moment later. “Uh. Yeah. Sorry. That was Gen’s. She was really into Juicy Couture.” He took the key back, and finagled the cherry (he always thought they sort of looked like a ball sac) keyfob off the ring. “There you go. I should have given that to you sooner, probably. I still have yours.”    
  
“Actually, when I saw you doing this,” Misha began, staring at the key in his palm. “I didn’t think it would be so soon. I thought....” He shook his head. “Nevermind. Thank you though.”   
  
“You saw this before?” Jared stared at him for a moment, and then frowned. “Did you see a lot of me? You never talk about the things you see. At least not to me.”   
  
“Not to anyone, really. Not often, or not until whatever I’ve seen has already happened..” Misha slipped the key into his pocket. “I try not to dwell on the things I see,much. It’s sort of the trick to being psychic. If you let yourself see too much, or read into what you see too much, you end up with self-fulfilling prophecy and...and I don’t want that. I don’t want to change how things are meant to be, and knowing...knowing can change everything. So I don’t tell people about the future in any big way and I don’t let knowing change me.” He flashed Jared a small smile. “It’s hard sometimes, but it keeps me...happy, I guess. I wouldn’t give up my gifts for almost anything, but I don’t let them rule me either. I just want to use them to make life better.”   
  
“There is at least one Spiderman, and several Harry Potter references I could make here,” Jared told him, with an easy grin. “I think it’s cool what you do. And it’s cool you don’t use it...I don’t know, selfishly. You could do a lot of damage with gifts like yours.”   
  
Misha pushed up from his chair, and slid his hands into his pocket. “People like to ask me the winning lottery numbers.” Jared noted the subject change, but let it go. “But that’s not how it works. I mean yeah, sometimes I see things like that, but mostly what I see has no context, no meaning. I just have to wait it out. And beyond that, I don’t know anything that isn’t already.”   
  
Jared locked his office door and flipped the ‘Will Return’ sign face-up on the little window. “Isn’t what?”   
  
“Just..isn’t. I don’t know anything that isn’t there to be known. I can’t tell people the sex of their child, until there actually is a child. I can’t tell people who they’ll fall in love with, until they’ve met them. I can’t see what isn’t there.” He threw Jared an apologetic look. “Sorry. Sensitive subject matter, I guess. I use to work a strip in New Orleans, doing palm-readings and other bullshit. People would get mad when I couldn’t tell them what they wanted to hear. So I lied. Until I got sick of lying.”   
  
“You lived in New Orleans?” In that moment, Jared realized just how little he knew about MIsha. “I didn’t know that. I know, I know. I never asked. Where else have you lived?”   
  
“All over the continental US. Some of Canada too, and I’ve blown through a little of Mexico, as well.” Misha grinned like he’d asked the right question. “My mother...she liked to follow the old gypsy ways, so basically we moved a lot and she cleaned houses for a living.  When I was sixteen, we’d somehow ended up in Louisiana, and I told fortunes on the strip. I didn’t end up back in California until my Babushka died, and I had to come and deal with some legal stuff for the house.”   
  
“Why don’t you stay at the house?” The question had been burning in his mind since Misha had told him it was his, but hadn’t had the opportunity to ask.   
  
Misha shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong; I love the house. But it’s too big for just one guy. I thought about letting Rob and Rich live there, but Rob’s got a mean-streak when it comes to his pride, and plus, that would ruin the Haunted House Bootcamp thing we have going on.”  
  
Jared gave him a shrewd look, and then smiled. “You don’t like being alone,” he said, sounding not the least bit accusatory. Misha gave him a startled look. “Hey, I’m not going to judge. Why do you think I let Chad stay at my house all the time?  It’s not even a quarter the size of your mansion, and sometimes it feels too big for me alone. It’s a family house.”  
  
“But that’s sort of why you bought it, isn’t it?” Misha made a face, one Jared was quickly coming to realize meant he honestly didn’t know and it bothered him. “Family. Kids and junk.”   
  
“Actually I bought it because of my dogs.” Jared laughed at himself, as they stepped out of Weston’s Gym and onto the main strip in town. “Big back yard, nice high fence, close to a dog park. Plus the back door had a doggy door wide enough for Harley. That sort of sold it for me. The price didn’t hurt. They practically paid me to take it off their hands. Kids never really fit into the equation.” He shrugged, and unlocked his car.   
  
“Was it worth the money you didn’t spend?” Misha dropped down into the passenger seat, and Jared spared a brief moment to wonder how he’d gotten to Weston’s in the first place. “What with your ghost and all.”   
  
Jared took a moment to honestly think about it. In the end though, the answer was easy. “Yeah. I mean, I met you didn’t I? And you’re awesome.”   
  
Misha flushed at that.   
  
Jared liked it, probably more than he should have.   
  
*  
  
“Oh God.”   
  
“It’s not that bad,” Jared said easily, hands curled over both Harley and Sadie’s leashes, as he sprinted in place. “Don’t be a baby.”   
  
“My spleen,” Misha moaned, curling over himself. “I think it’s ruptured. When you said run, I thought we’d be briskly sprinting, not hurling ourselves headlong like our asses were on fire, through unmarked trails in the woods.” He was bright red, and sticky with sweat, squinting up at Jared, as sun blinded him. “I’m dying. I’m dying and you’re standing there running in place. It’s like you don’t love me at all.”   
  
“Misha, there’s like eight trees in this park, and the path is paved.” Jared laughed, and pulled his dogs closer. “Look, why don’t you take Sadie back to the house? She’s starting to lag anyway. I’m going to do a few more circuits with Harley.”   
  
“If that’s your apology for making me run a gauntlet, I do not accept.” Words aside, Misha made grabby hands for Sadie’s leash. “Have fun running while I spitefully pee in your shower.”   
  
“Hey, don’t be bitter because you’re not as in good of shape as I am.” Jared fished a milkbone out of the pocket in his track shorts, and fed it to Sadie. “Maybe lay of the bagel bites.”   
  
“Excuse me?” Misha stood up straight, and scowled at him. “I have personally seen you plow through like, three pizzas by yourself. I teach yoga, Jared! I am the epitome of fit.”   
  
“Pfff,” Jared rolled his eyes. “Teaching yoga doesn’t mean you’re fit. It means you’re bendy.”   
  
“Damn right it does. I can suck my own dick, guy. Don’t know any fitness instructors who can do that.” Misha huffed, leading Sadie along. Jared laughed as he limped along the trail. “Yeah, you’re laughing now. But see who’s laughing when I jerk off into your shower gel.”  
  
It was another half an hour before Jared headed home. The sun was setting, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink. Jared was almost at his door, when a voice stopped him.  
  
“Young man!” His neighbor called, from her tiny front porch. She was an elderly woman, seventy if she was a day, and barely peaking five feet tall.   
  
“What can I do for you?” Jared asked, stepping up her stone path. “I’m Jared, by the way. Jared Padalecki.”   
  
“Of course you are, sonny! I’m Marianne Golding,” she held her door open, with a mothering smile. “I believe I’ve gotten some of your mail. Can you come inside? I’ll just be a moment to grab it. You’re welcome to bring your dog inside as well. I noticed your young friend had your other.”   
  
“Ah yes. That’s Misha. My friend I mean. The dog he had was Sadie. This is Harley.” Harley sat down at Jared’s feet obediently, leaning his heavy head against Jared’s thigh.   
  
Marianne sifted through a small stack of letters on the sideboard in her entrance way.  Structurally, the inside of her house looked exactly like Jareds; the same high arched doors, and loft-style stairway. However, it was was lived in, with comfortable looking furniture and innumerable photos’s hanging on the wall. Jared hoped his house would hold the same homey feel one day.   
  
** **

“Lovely dogs,” Marianne told him. “So obedient. Never a peep. I’ll tell you, we’ve had some god-awful animals come through our neighborhoods, always yapping, and digging up my roses. But not your darlings. Why my bridge party was saying just the other day that they’d never seen a more well behaved pair. They don’t even growl at my cats, and I know Biggles has a thing for sitting on your fence’”

****  
Jared smiled proudly. “They have their moments, but for the most part, I can’t complain.” Jared looked down in time to catch Harley staring at one of Marrianne’s (many) cats. “Be nice,” he warned, giving the leash a tug.  
  
“That friend of yours is quite well behaved too,” Marianne commented, as she sorted a small handful of Jared’s letters from her own. “Such a darling. He helped me change my porch light just the other day.”   
  
At that, Jared blinked. “Chad? I uh...didn’t know you met Chad.”  As far as Jared could recall, Chad had never been described as well behaved or a darling. He was more or less the antitheist of both.   
  
“Oh no. I won't believe I’ve met him. Is he the blonde one with the very loud car?” She gave Jared a lifted look, clearly judging him for his choice in friends. It was a look Jared was long familiar with. “I do believe he did his business in your shrubbery once. I thought he might be a bit touched in the head.”   
  
“He is,” Jared lied, because it was easier than explaining or defending Chad. “I’ll have a talk with him though.  But, you must be talking about Misha.”   
  
“Oh yes,” Marianne cooed, grin returning. “What a delightful young man. You couldn’t be luckier, I think. Not that you aren’t a catch sweetie. But Mr.Misha was dear enough to let me know my light was out, and even brought a bulb to change it.”   
  
“Lucky,” Jared repeated, and it took him a moment to hash out what Marianne was eluding to. “Oh! You think...No, no it’s not like that between Misha and I. He’s just a friend.” Sort of. Mostly. What?  
  
Marianne gave him a disbelieving look, but then smiled, soft and assuring. “Oh don’t you worry, honey. You’re secret’s safe with us. My bridge club think’s you two are just the cutest thing. Ours is a very tolerant neighborhood though, so you wouldn’t have to worry.”   
  
Jared knew better than to argue with the elderly. He bid Marianne a good evening, and made to leave, when a photo on the wall caught his eye. The face was familiar now, with soft blue eyes, and not a hair on his head. Mostly, the picture was of an impressive looking vintage car, and what Jared would guess was Marianne’s daughter, holding a chubby pink baby. But in the background, there he was; Jared’s ghost. “I don’t mean to push, but...could you tell me who that is? The man in the background.”   
  
“Oh, that was snapped at one of our annual neighborhood barbeques.” She squinted at the photo, with a frown. “He was one of the neighbor boys. Live in your house, I do believe. Had him a nice fellow, just like you. Kept it quiet though, never told a soul. But us girls could see it; them boys had stars in their eyes for each other. No one ‘round here gave them trouble of course. Can’t recall his name. My memory just isn’t what it use to be. He passed on...why, ten years ago I do believe. His boy was devastated. Last I heard, he moved to the city.”   
  
“I found a box of things in the attic I think might belong to him.” Jared felt guilty for lying to Marianne, but he couldnt’ bring himself to tell the truth. “Do you think I could borrow the photo? I think I could use it to find his boyfriend. You know...” He flailed for a moment. “With the internet.”   
  
Marianne beamed. “Well ain’t that dandy. Modern technology, I’ll tell you! I can never keep up. You go on and take that one, lord knows I got plenty more.  But I wouldn’t say no to a nice photo of you and that Mr.Misha.” She winked at him. “Maybe you can bring him to the next barbeque.”   
  
Jared didn’t have the heart to correct her again, not when he held an honest to God photo of their ghost in his hand. Their ghost when he’d been alive. “I’ll see what I can do.”   
  
** **

*

****  
“Misha!”  
  
Jared could hear the water running from his master bath. He wasted no time unclipping Sadie, and sprinting upstairs. “Mish?”   
  
He stepped into the bathroom, and froze. The shower curtain was askew, just enough to expose Misha’s elbow,  and it’s rapid gesticulation. Jared could not believe him. “Oh my God. Misha.”   
  
There was a grunt, followed by “oh Jesus fuck.”  Misha cleared his throat. Jared heard the snap-click of the cap being replaced on his shower gel, before Misha returned the bottle to the outer corner of the bathtub. “What? I told you I was gonna’.”   
  
“I didn’t think you were serious!” Jared said, in a strangled voice. “I....I....” The only thing Jared was sure he was, was significantly confused about his boner. “Um.”   
  
Misha stuck his head out of the shower, cheeks bright red from the heat. “What had you hauling ass in here, anyway?”   
  
“I...have a picture. Of the ghost. Not...not of the ghost. But of the guy, when he was alive. ” Jared held up the frame, but the glass was fogged with steam. “Look.”   
  
Misha nearly fell out of the shower in his haste to snatch the photo from Jared’s hand. He wiped the fog from the mirror with his wet hand, and stared at it.   
  
“You getting anything from it?” Jared asked, hesitantly. He’d learned that having any kind of expectations of Misha’s gift was a big no-no.  Also, Misha wasn’t wearing any pants.   
  
Misha frowned. “No. I don’t think he ever even saw this photo. But we can still use it..”   
  
*  
  
When Misha told him they could use the photo, Jared was thinking something a little more tech-savvy then HAVE YOU SEEN flyers. There, in black and white, was Marianne Golding’s photo, and all of Jared’s contact info. Because Misha was out of minutes, apparently.   
  
It had been a week since they’d began pinning them all over the city.  Jared was starting to lose hope, but Misha never flagged. “I know we’re close,” he said, as he taped a flyer to the cork board in a local soup kitchen. “I just can’t...put my finger on it.” His shoulders fell at that, and Jared pushed his own insecurities aside. “I just want some answers, you know? I’m getting a little desperate here. I don't’ like not knowing, Jared.”   
  
“Hey now, come on.” Jared elbowed him in the ribs as they stepped back out onto the sidewalk. “ Good things come to those who wait.”   
  
  
Misha made a face. “Platitudes are unbecoming of you, guy.” He closed his eyes, and when they opened, Jared wasn’t sure he liked the maniacal little gleam he saw there. “Do you think Chad can take the dogs tonight? I have an idea.”   
  
They headed home after that, and crashed out on the couch. Jared had a rare three-day weekend, and Misha had...more or less, made himself at home at Jared’s. Not that Jared minded. He hadn’t been kidding when he told Misha sometimes the house felt too big. Chad made his usual appearances, but since meeting Sophia, his time seemed less devoted to eating all of Jared’s food and farting all over his couch.   
  
Not that Jared minded. He was happy for Chad; Sophia was way too good for him. And besides, he had Misha.   
  
But not like Chad had Sophia, of course. Not at all.   
  
Not that he’d want that.   
  
See, the thing was...since Gen, and Chad and Marianne had planted the seed in Jared’s head he couldn’t help but wonder why they’d see that, how they’d draw that conclusion.  He wondered if it was him. ‘Cause it wasn’t like Misha was casting him any sidelong glances.   
  
  
“So I was thinking I’d sleep in your bed tonight,” Misha said, as they pushed themselves up off the couch, later that night.  He’d been sleeping on the floor beside Jared’s bed all week. The ghost hadn’t manifested in the room since the last time, but Misha assured him he was there.  The most Jared ever felt was sudden cold, and the overwhelming, drowning feeling of despair. “I think I know how we can draw your ghost out.”   
  
Though that was usually what Jared was trying to avoid, he didn’t even think to protest.   
  
  
That night was the first, and only time Misha brought out an oijia board. “I don’t usually recommend these,” he admitted, laying it carefully at the end of the bed, in a circle of salt. “They’re...tricky. And even more dangerous for someone like me. My head is already open and susceptible to outside interference, you know?  Oijia boards won’t just get your ghost going; they could invite others in. That’s why we use the salt.”  Kneeling down, he closed his eyes and moved the planchet to the center of the board. “The door is open,” he said quietly. “Hand me that black bag, would you?”   
  
“What the hell do you have in here?” Jared asked, as he heaved the long, black duffel bag up onto the bed. “Bricks?”   
  
Rising, Misha unzipped it with a flourish. “Car batteries,” he said with a grin. “Help me put them in the corners of the room.”   
  
Jared did as he was asked, settling the batteries in all four corners, as Misha pulled out a heavy coil of copper wiring from the bag. “This...looks like a terrible idea.”   
  
“You’re not going to like it,” Misha admitted, as he set to lining the wires from battery to battery. It didn’t exactly look safe, but Jared trusted Misha to to blow his house up.   
  
Jared shook his head, a panicked sort of buzz already beginning to build at the base of his neck. “This feels like my laundry room.”   
  
“Exactly,” Misha told him. “We’re making a cage. The oijia board is powerful; it will draw him right to it. The batteries will act as the energy source needed for Mike to manifest. Hand me that pot, would you?”   
  
Jared grabbed his roasting pan off the dresser. He’d wondered before why Misha had brought it up. “Okay, so what are you doing now?”   
  
“Ghost-bait.” Misha fished deeper into the bag, before finding a yellow bottle. Unceremoniously, he dumped the contents into the pan. “This is why I asked if Chad could take the dogs. Wouldn’t want them drinking this.”   
  
“Smells like nail polish remover,” Jared commented, as Misha dumped another bottle into the pan.   
  
Misha tossed the empties back in the bag. “It is.”   
  
Instantly, Jared was on edge. It could have been the EMF’s making him paranoid, but he was pretty sure whatever Misha was thinking, it was a bad idea. “I don’t know about this Misha. Maybe we should wait until---”   
  
“Little tired of waiting, guy.” Misha pushed up from the floor, and shoved the duffle bag under the bed. “Look, if this doesn’t work, I’ll lay off, okay? But I really think I have it this time.”   
  
Jared stood at his side of the bed, staring down at the pan nervously. “If you’re sure.”   
  
“Of course I’m sure,” Misha said, sliding beneath the covers. “Now go to bed. No homo.”   
  
  
*  
  
Jared woke to fire, and desperation.   
  
“Wake up, wake up,” someone shook him, ice cold fingers curling into his shoulder. “You have to wake up, you have to get out.”  The sheer terror woke him up faster then the firm grip. He knew the voice; the ghost had manifested.  
  
At the foot of his bed, a fire roared, blue-white flames licking high and hot. Misha was nowhere to be found, but Jared knew he was close anyway. Misha wouldn’t leave him like this.   
  
Bodily, he was pulled from the bed.  The air was charged with so much energy, it was very nearly tangible. The ghost gripped him harder, shoving him toward the open window.  “Come on, come on---”   
  
Suddenly, Jared’s hand exploded with pain, the silver ring heating, scorching his skin. He fumbled for it, hands trembling as his vision blurred. It felt like his laundry room but a thousand times worse. The panic, the unending terror, it poured down on him like a drowning rain, choking the air from his lungs.  The ghost pushed again, and Jared felt his thighs hit the windows edge.   
  
The ring grew hotter with every shove. He tore it off, and flung it across the room, watching it hit the floor with a plink-plink-plink before rolling into the closet.   
  
Where he’d found it.   
  
It was like a flip had been switched. The hands that had been pushing him, now held him to hard, phantom nails biting into the bare skin of his arms. Jared found himself slammed back into the window frame.   
  
But then, there was Misha, dousing the flames with a small fire extinguisher.  The ghost roared, grabbing Jared’s lamp and hurling it across the room. It smashed against the wall, in a rain of shattered ceramic.   
  
“What the fuck is happening,” Jared called out, over the unearthly screech. “Misha! What’s happening?”   
  
Misha’s eyes were wide and terrified. “Poltergeist,” he whispered, and Jared barely had time to shove him out of the way before his bedside table came sailing through the room. They tumbled to the ground, Jared covering Misha as one of the canopy posts snapped, and fell on top of them.   
  
Misha scrambled beneath him, hands grappling for the copper wire. “Don’t touch it!” Jared yelled, grabbing his hand, and pinning it to the floor. “It’s live.”   
  
And it was. The batteries snapped and crackled as the poltergiest waged it’s war. Jared heard a snap-crunch that sounded suspiciously like the floorboards being torn up.  “We have to cut the power,” Misha told him, grappling for the wire again.   
  
Jared pinned him down with his whole body with a growl. Snatching up a piece of the shattered lamp, he used it to claw the wire from the battery. Instantly, the room fell silent. He realized the unholy roar had been in his head, probably a side effect from the overdose of EMF.   
  
He  propped himself up on his elbows. “Are you okay?”   
  
“Am I okay,” Misha repeated, almost flatly. “Am I okay? Are you... Are you fucking with me right now, Jared? That...He tried to push you out a window! He threw a lamp at your head! That...that was a mistake. I made a mistake. He...that was a poltergeist.”   
  
“Misha,” Jared breathed, feeling blood drip down the back of his neck, to his collar bone. He’d hit his head harder against the window frame then he imagined. “Are you okay?”   
  
“Yes.” Misha told him, eyes wide. “Yes. Yeah. I...” He blinked, mouth half open, and shook his head ‘no’. “I almost got you killed! I...I almost...because I’m impatient, because I’m fucking stupid---”  
  
Jared smiled, and slid his hand under Misha’s head, pillowing it from the broken shards of lamp. He’d never seen Misha so upset, so worked up. And over Jared, of all things.  He just wanted to hug him, dammit. “None of that, okay?” For a second, Misha smiled too, and Jared couldn’t help but lean down. Because kissing Misha right then, it seemed like the right thing to do.   
  
Maybe he was the reason everyone assumed they were gay. But in that moment, he didn’t really care. Because Misha...well. Because Misha.   
  
** **

Misha must not have thought so, though. The color drained from his face. He looked up at Jared with nothing but horror. “This isn’t what happened. This isn't’ what I saw.. Get off me. Get off me!”

****  
  
Jared blinked, confusion warring with rejection. “What?”  
  
MIsha pushed until Jared was forced to ease back, sharp shards of ceramic biting at his forearms. “That’s...this isn't’ how it happens. This isn’t what I saw. We weren’t....” His face drained of any remaining color. “Oh no.”   
  
“Misha,” Jared said, easing back some more. It was the wrong thing to do, because Misha took that opportunity to scramble out from beneath him, and across the room. He pushed to his feet, and frowned.“You’re freaking me out.”   
  
Misha barred his teeth. “This isn’t what happened! This isn’t what I saw! I was wrong,” he snapped. “I thought...I thought we’d been...” He shook his head. “I made a mistake.”   
  
Jared was across the room in an instant, fingers curling into MIsha’s shirt. “What did you think you saw? Just talk to me Misha! Fuck.”   
  
Misha reeled on him, shoving him hard in the shoulder. “I thought we were kissing. When I saw you on top of me, in my vision. I thought we were fucking, Jared.” His teeth were bared, and his eyes were hard. “But you were just...saving my ass, apparently. You were just being...you. Being awesome. I’m...I fucked up. I let a vision control my actions, and I fucked up. I let myself...” He shook his head. “I am so sorry. I am so sorry Jared, I shouldn’t have, because I didn’t, and then...” Misha’s expression hardened. “I have to go.”   
  
Jared wasn’t sure what to say. Had Misha lied to him? Had Misha only ever bothered with him because of what he’d seen? Because of what he thought was going to happen? “When...when did you see that?”   
  
Misha laughed, cold and hard. “The day you walked into Parlor.”   
  
He left after that, and Jared let him. He was too shell-shocked to do anything else. Plus, Misha would come back.   
  
He would.   
  
*  
  
He didn’t.   
  
Not for a long while.   
  
Jared gave up calling Misha around day four.  He spent the days returning his house to working order, and repairing the damage the ghost had wrought. The ghost, he might add, who had been oddly silent since Misha’s had bolted.  
  
** **

Chad had blown in on day seven, in a whirlwind of douchebaggery and non-sympathy. He’d taken one look at Jared, slapped him on the back and told him to call when he grew a pair. Typical Chad, really. But then, he’d also scrunched his nose up in a particularly unattractive fashion and asked Jared if he wanted to crash he and Sophia’s date. So maybe he did care, in his own Chad-tastic way.  Regardless, Jared declined. He wasn’t really in the mood to play third-wheel.

****  
He waved him off with a grunt, before rolling back over on the couch and burying his face in a pile of laundry he should have been folding.  
  
“Jay man,” Chad began, heaving a sigh. “You know, you could always call him. Jenny says he’s been moping like a little bitch. Won’t even leave his closet. He’s been outsourcing his uh...social work or whatever he calls it, to those two dudes, the twins. Hasn’t taken a case all week.” When Jared didn’t reply, Chad kicked him in the thigh. “What happened?”  
  
“I tried. Several times. He’s not answering. I don’t know.” And mostly, Jared didn’t. “One minute, we were ducking ghost-bombs, and the next thing I know, Misha’s ditching me with a pissed of poltergeist.” There was more of course, but nothing Jared felt particularly inclined to share with Chad.  
  
Chad must have sensed it. The man could smell a weakness like a shark could smell blood. “He’s a little gay for you right?” He asked, plopping his ass on Jared’s coffee table. “He totally wants to hit that.”  
  
Which. Well. Jared didn’t confirm it. Seemed a bit rude, given the circumstances. “I don’t want to talk about it.”  
  
“You’re a good looking dude I guess,” Chad told him, with an earnest, slightly-pained tone. “I mean, I guess I can see why a gay dude might want to get on that. Or uh...in that. I mean. Don’t want to assume.”    
  
“Oh my God, just stop talking.” Jared sat up just enough to glare at Chad.  
  
Chad raised his hands in defense. “Hey, I’m just saying. If you kicked his ass to the curb for perving on you, that’s kind of douchey. You should be flattered. I thought you were a little into him, anyway.  But the dudes a nice guy.  I mean I think if you said ‘hey dude, I’m not into that’, he’d accept it and move on.”  
  
Jared stared at his friend for a long moment. “Where are you getting this, again?”  
  
Chad blinked back. “Oh, yesterday Sophia was blowing me in the back room at Parlor and I could hear Jensen and Misha talking through the walls.  Misha was saying something about how you weren’t gay for him or some shit.” Jared assumed that wasn’t verbatim. “Like, did he come onto you and you flip your shit? Because I gotta tell you Jay, I always thought you were a little homo. Two words. Purple room. Plus, it’s pretty obvious you got a boner for that guy anyway.”  
  
“It’s slate,” Jared rejoined, mostly on reflex. “I didn’t shoot him down. He didn’t even come on to me. We were...dodging projectiles and I knocked him over before he could take a table to the head and...I was on top of him. And then he just flipped out and bolted.”  
  
Chad scratched his head. “Did he have a boner? ‘Cause I mean, maybe he’s just embarrassed? It could have been a fear-boner. That’s totally a thing.”  
  
“What?” Jared stared. “No! No one had a boner, fear or otherwise.”  
  
“I think you’re missing some serious context clues or some shit. You should talk to him.” Jared wasn’t missing anything, there were just some things he couldn’t bring himself to share with Chad. Misha’s secrets, his mistakes, were his own. Chad checked the time on his phone and pushed up off the coffee table. “I gotta bolt. You sure you don’t want to come?”  
  
“Yeah dude, thanks but...you know, no thanks. I think I’m just going to chill. Catch up on laundry. Call my mom. She’s left like seventeen voice mails.”  
  
Chad snorted. “Yeah, she called me and asked if I’d met your girl friend Misha yet. You might want to clear that up. Man, even your mom thinks your dicking the dude. No wonder he’s confused.”  
  
As a friendly parting gesture, Chad relocated the twelve-pack of fancy micro-brew (Misha’s favorite) from the fridge to the coffee table. “Party hard, loser.”     
  
  
*  
  
Jared wondered if this was how Sandy McCoy felt, in her senior year. Jared had been a freshman with an epic crush.  An epic and well known crush. Hell, even Sandy had known. She’d been sweet, and kind, as she turned him down. She’d even gone so far as to sooth his bruised ego by slapping him on the ass and telling him to call her once he’d finished filling out.    
  
Jared was getting off track. The point was, he couldn’t help but wonder if Sandy had questioned what it was that had Jared panting after her. Probably not. She was beautiful, and sweet, and funny, and built like a brick shit house. There wasn’t much not to like. But then, maybe that was just what Jared saw her.  Chad had thought she was kind of bitchy, and Katie Cassidy had always been quick to call her a ditz.  And okay, if Jared took a moment to step back, he could admit that Sandy wasn’t exactly known for her intelligence.    
  
Jared couldn’t think of anything about himself exceptional enough to have Misha mistaking his...his friendly overtures as anything but. But then, Misha hadn’t, had he? He hadn’t mistaken anything for anything.  Still, Jared felt bad, that he might have lead the guy on. Because Misha was awesome. He was... He was kind and giving, with a dry wit that managed to be sarcastic, and funny without making anyone feel stupid or belittled.  He was generous too (while also managing to be a hellacious mooch).  Honestly, Misha was way too good for Jared. Crushing on Jared was practically slumming it.  
  
Jared missed him.  
  
It took losing him to make him realise just exactly what he’d been ignoring.   
  
He missed Misha. His absence was felt like a hole in his soul. He felt gutted, and cold. He felt like there weren’t enough reasons to get out of bed in the morning any more.   
  
He felt heart broken.   
  
Not even a week had passed since Misha’s hasty departure.  But the brutal reminders of his absence remained, peppered throughout the house; the second towel mildewing on the bar beside the toilet, the fancy french creamer in the door of the fridge, the short and curly black hairs clinging to the shower wall that Jared had convinced himself were from Misha’s head and not Misha’s anything else.  
  
Misha might have left, but Jared saw him everywhere anyway.  
  
The parallel dawned on him when he’d finally roused himself up from the couch enough to fold the crumpled laundry strewn across it. By then, he was a good eight beers into his moping. Jeans. Sweats. Shorts. Shirts. Pink. Blue. Orange. White. It wasn’t until he was matching socks, that he started laughing, a broken, sad hacking sound that probably resembled dying better than it did any sort of mirth.  
  
Misha hated folding socks. Never bothered. He was also aberrantly against neutral tones. Jared had yet to see the man wear a white or black sock. They were all violent shades of fuchsia and lime, sometimes sparkling, sometimes striped.  In his hand he held a knee-length Hannah Montana toe-sock (once paired with a blue and white Indianapolis Colts ankle sock).  
  
The moping. The beer. The longingly staring at his phone, hoping it will ring. The stumbling upon relics of their forsaken relationship.  
  
It felt like a break-up.  
  
It felt exactly like a break-up, because that’s what it was. Misha had dumped Jared. Or had Jared dumped Misha? Did it even matter? Their bromance had been shattered, breaking everything that could have been along with it.  
  
“He didn’t have to leave,” Jared muttered. , angrily throwing MIsha’s sock across the living room. Harley bolted for it, bringing it back to Jared with the faithful ignorance only a dog could possess.  “We could have talked about it, you know?” He told Harley, as he rubbed his wrinkly head. “He should have talked to me! Because he had.. if he had...maybe I’d have told him...told him....”  
  
And just like that, Jared went from mopey butthurt to bitter butthurt.  
  
It was not by any stretch of the imagination, progress. It was, however, apparently enough to kick his Casper into gear. What was it that Misha had said? Anger could fuel a poltergeist? Well, apparently so could bitter resentment.  
  
** **

Suddenly, the stereo burst into life, skip stuttering until Phill Collin’s World’s Apart poured from the speakers, picking up at the lyrics,  ‘How can you just walk away from me, when all I can do is watch you leave....’

****  
Jared is not ashamed to admit that he might have flailed a little, fingers curling into Harey’s jowls unconsciously. Harley didn’t seem to mind, dropping his head into Jared’s lap as he continued to chew on Misha’s sock.  
  
** **

. “Ho’shit.” Jared wheezed, heart hammering in his chest. His vision was a little blurry; maybe due to the fear, or maybe the beer. “ I don’t own any Phill Collin’s.” Which was maybe not the point.  The point was that the room had dropped about ten degrees and the lamps were flickering. And oh yeah, his stereo was playing Phill Collin’s. Without any sort of permission.

****  
Jared scrambled for his phone, where he’d abandoned it on the coffee table, next to a small battalion of empty bottles. His fingers were dialing Misha before he could even think. He’d barely hit END in time, before it began to ring. He couldn’t call Misha. What the hell was he thinking?  
  
Suddenly the music cut, speakers emitting a high, ear-shattering shriek before Journey kicked on, the epic opening of Separate Ways painfully familiar in his ears. ‘Here we stand, worlds apart! Hearts broken in two, two, two. Sleepless nights, losing ground I’m reaching for you, you, you.”  
  
“I’m not calling him,” Jared told the stereo firmly. “I’m not.” He plucked another bottle from the twelve pack, and tossed the cap at the left speaker. “Eighties soft rock doesn’t scare me. I mean, what’s Misha going to do? Switch the station to modern contemporary? I don’t need him.”  
  
With another grinding shriek, the track changed tunes, the raucous melody of Stone Temple Pilots picking up speed. It skipped and stuttered again, straight to the lyrics. “Leaving on a southern train. Only yesterday, you lied. Promises, of what I seemed to be---”  
  
“Well hold on,” Jared protested the stereo. “Misha didn’t lie, per se. He just... Uh.” He scratched his head, and wondered at the best way to explain Misha’s epic man crush to the stereo. “It was just a mix up. He should have talked to me. God, I wish he’d just talk to me.” Jared slumped back against the couch, and finished his beer before blindly reaching for another.  
  
The song screeched to a halt, the tinkling sounds of The Cranberries picking up just as Jared got the top of beer. “If you, if you could return, don’t let it burn, don’t let it fade....”  
  
“We had a good thing going!” Jared told the empty room, pointing at nothing in particular, with his bottle. Beer sloshed down the sides, soaking his hand, but really, what did it matter? What did anything matter? “I thought we were friends.I think we might have been more.”  
  
  
Just like that, the song switched again. Smashing Pumpkins Perfect, the quiet lyrics doing nothing to sooth Jared’s bitter ire. In fact, he sang along. ‘And I’ve known all along, we’re just like old friends, we can’t just pretend! That lov--well, not lovers. But we could make amends. If he’d fucking answer his phone and talk to me!”  He growled, slamming his bottle on the coffee table. “This song is sad. I don’t want to listen to this song.”  
  
The stereo seemed to understand, changing once more. The smooth, mellow rifts of Oasis’ ‘Don’t Go Away’ seeped across the room.  “Not better!” Jared snapped, pushing himself up off the couch. Instantly, he tripped, tumbling over Harley as first chorus hit. ‘So don’t go away! Say what you say! Say that you’ll stay, forever and and a day---’  
  
Jared at the stereo through the under side of the coffee table,, legs tangled up in Harleys. “I need better appliances. The microwave doesn’t pull this crap on me..” He rolled onto his back and glowered up at the ceiling. “What is he even doing? Ignoring me! I mean, am I not even worth talking to now that he knows he can’t get in my pants?” It was a ridiculous thing to think, but ten beers in, ridiculous was pretty much expected. “I’m not that kind of girl! Gay! Guy! I’m not that kind of gay guy! Guy! Just guy. I’m not that kind of guy!” He threw his arm over his face, hiding in the bend of his elbow. “This sucks.”  
  
As if on cue, and really Jared expected it that time, the song changed once more. ‘Love hurts. Love scars. Love wounds, and marks.----’  
  
Jared snorted, and threw the Hannah Montana sock at the stereo. “You’re a terrible DJ.”   
  
‘Some fools think of happiness. Of blissfulness. Of togetherness,’ the song crooned on, louder this time. As if to prove a point.  
  
“I’m not in love with Misha.” Jared shrank back. “Misha’s not in love with me.”  
  
‘Love hurts, oooooh, love hurts.’  
  
The world blurred at the edges, as both Harley and Sadie wedged themselves against Jared. The song shifted again, and this time Jared was barely conscious enough to catch it. ‘Oh, my love. My darling. How I’ve hungered for your touch----”  
  
“Fucking Air Supply,” Jared slurred. “Now you’re just fucking with me.”  
  
Unfortunately for Jared his night didn’t end there.  Or...at least he assumed it didn’t, considering he woke up half naked on the front porch, wearing Misha’s toe sock like puppet on his left hand.  
  
That in and of itself would have served for a spectacularly bad morning.  He panicked for a moment, fuzzy-headed and sleep-mussed. What day was it? Did he work? Where were his pants?  
  
“It’s Tuesday. You don’t work. And I think Harley took your pants back to the nest.”  
  
Jared didn’t look up. He didn’t look up, didn’t open his eyes, hell, he didn’t even move. “Misha?”  
  
** **

A laugh, soft and maybe sad. “Jared, what are you doing?”

****  
Beyond Misha’s work boots, Jared saw a mostly empty bottle of whisky. Specifically, the cheap bottle of whisky Chad had tucked away in the back of the pantry, behind the Fruity Pebbles.  
  
Never a good sign.  
  
** **

Jared couldn’t come up with a respectable answer, so he ignored the question. “The stereo must have called you,” he explained. “It’s real chatty. Playing break-up ballads from the eighties all night.” He must have left the front door open, because he could hear music still playing. Police’s Every Breath You Take filtered through the screen door, soft and accusing. “This one doesn’t even makes sense!” He called out, addressing the stereo. “I think I’m still drunk.”

****  
Misha snorted, and dropped to a crouch. Didn’t help much; now all Jared could see was his crotch. “I think this one’s for me. I’ve been here for an hour.”  
  
“Watching every step I take?” Jared asked in a slur, blinking through the curtain of his bangs.  
  
“Watching every snore you make, more like.” Rough hands pushed beneath his arms, and Jared found himself unceremoniously hauled upward. “Come on then, porch is no place to sleep.”  
  
“M’not sleeping.” Jared leaned heavily on Misha. “I was drinking with the stereo.”   
  
“Jesus Kentucky fried crust,” Misha swore, as he slammed to a stand-still in the archway of the living room. “Jared, you have to get out. You have to go---”  
  
“ don't’ want to hurt you,’ the ghost said, by the staircase. ‘I um...I’m sorry, about before.’  
  
Misha didn’t move, barring Jared entrance into the living room. He was tense, every muscle drawn up, like he was ready to pounce. “You’re...aware now?”  
  
The ghost smiled sadly. “You’re not my Tommy.”  
  
“No,” Jared said, over Misha’s head. “I’m sorry.”  
  
The ghost shrugged. ‘It was the ring, you know?’ He looked to Jared’s now bare hand. ‘Tommy gave me that. He had one just like it. When you put it on...I got confused.’  
  
Apparently, that was all the ghost had to say. He flashed them a wink, and fizzled out with a pop. It left Jared feeling shaky, and more drunk than before. The sad tinge was still there, hanging in the air. But now, it was stained with reality, with truth.   
  
It felt impossibly worse.  The blissful ignorance had been shattered.   
  
Misha made a noise, half-growl, and half self-exasperation. “That’s why the EMF detector beeped on your junk! You were covering yourself with your fucking hands.” He laughed, but seemed to remember himself. “I should go.”  
  
“You should stay,” Jared told him, backing up as Misha turned around. “You ran off last time, you didn’t even let me talk.”  
  
“There isn't’ anything for you to say.” Misha stared at the floor, scuffing his toe against the hardwood. “I fucked up, and I’m sorry. I let something that I’d seen lead me. And I know better, you know that I know better, that you can’t read into visions but...” He shrugged, helplessly. “I just...I wanted it, I guess. And then you came into Parlor, and...I wanted it more. I wanted it to be real.”  
  
“You saw it before you met me?” Jared blinked. “I thought that’s not how it worked. That you couldn’t see anything that wasn’t yet.”  
  
“Chad had told me you were swinging by,” Misha admitted, biting his lip. “I...when you showed up, I was showing off a little, so I was sort of playing up the psychic thing. Chad had already given me your name and address. Told me to watch out for your dogs too.”  
  
“You freaked me out man,” Jared told him, wide eyed and not a little hurt. Misha had lied. “I thought...I don’t know what I thought. Tell me you didn’t lie about everything.”  
  
“I really am psychic.” Misha shrugged. “I...Jared, I don’t know what’s real, and what’s been altered by me...acting on what I saw. I don’t know.”  
  
Jared took a step back. “Do you...I mean.” He swallowed, and sighed. “Fuck, I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Do you like me like that?”  
  
“Do I want to fuck you, is that what you’re asking?” Jared nodded, hesitantly. “I’ve wanted to fuck you before I even met you, guy. I’m pretty sure I would have wanted to, regardless of the vision. You’re...you’re a good looking guy, and that just so happens to be my type. Doesn’t hurt that you’re...you know. You.” Misha squirmed. “But I can’t be sure I’d...” He sighed too. “I just can’t be sure.”  
  
“Maybe you should go,” Jared said, when Misha didn’t continue. “Come back when you’re sure.”  
  
Misha stared at him. “You’re mad at me. Why are you mad? I mean, I get why you would be mad, but you’re mad because...”  
  
“You don’t get a say in how I feel,” Jared told him, looming. “What you saw, what you acted on, doesn’t affect what I feel. I don’t doubt what I feel.”  
  
“You don’t feel like that about me.” MIsha’s voice was firm, and sure. For a psychic, he was pretty much blind.  
  
“Fuck you,” Jared growled. “You don’t get to tell me that. You don’t get to decide that. Because I do. I am crazy about you, Misha. This week has been hell. I was more upset when you left me, than I was when Gen and I broke up! I...just fuck you. You don’t know how I feel.”  
  
Misha wavered. “I don’t know if I can trust it. Would you have fallen for me, if I hadn’t lead you that way?”  
  
Jared threw his hands up. “What do you think you did wrong? What was so wrong with how we...with how I....With this?” He waved his hand between them. “Because since I’ve met you Misha, I’ve realized just how miserable I was without you. And I don’t want to lose you, because you think you did wrong.”  
  
“It’s self-fulfilling prophecy,” Misha protested. “It only happened because I wanted it to.”  
  
“I don’t care! That’s how wanting something works! You want it, and you make it happen by any means possible!” Jared shook his head. “Does me wanting it change anything? No.”  
  
“You don’t.”  
  
“Fuck you I don’t.” He pointed to the door. “Stop being a selfish, conceited dick. Because if you think hanging around my house and hogging all my hot water is enough to turn me gay for you, you’re an ass. I like you because of who you are, not what you think you did to make me like you. I didn’t fall...” Jared cleared his throat, but pressed on. “I didn’t start falling in love with you just because you thought you saw us fucking.”  
  
** **

Misha sagged. “I don’t know how to be wrong. It doesn't’ happen often.”

****

“I won’t judge you for being wrong sometimes if you don’t leave me like that again.” It wasn’t anything to pull him into a hug. “Because that was the worst break up I have ever been through and we weren’t even really together. And I don't’ want to do it again.”

****

“We could get breakfast or something,” Misha said, with a  tired sigh. “You’re still kind of drunk, so like...IHOP?

“You’re a cheap date,” Jared told him, shoving his bare feet into a pair of leather sandals. “Or am I a cheap date? You’re buying. This is a date.”

****

Misha sighed, as he locked the door behind them. “You’re really going to do this? Going to go gay?”

****

“For you?” Jared knew, in his head, that he was being ridiculously sappy, but beer did that to him, on occasion. Or maybe Misha just did that to him. “Yeah, for you.”

****

“I wish I could warn you about how hard it’s going to be,” Misha said, with a tired sigh. “How your family will judge you, how your work will judge you. How you don’t understand how this will affect every part of your life except...it won’t. You won’t let it. Your parents will love you either way, your work has several homosexual and lesbian employees, and you’ll happily punch anyone who has a problem with...me, in the face.” Misha laughed. “It shouldn’t be this easy. It can’t be.”

****

“Nothing worth it is,” Jared said. He was pretty sure he was quoting a movie, but couldn’t recall which. Not that it mattered. “Maybe, going into this not knowing is exactly what you need. Maybe a little blind-faith...in me, is what you need.”

****

Misha stared at him for a long moment, silent and blank. “Okay,” he said, nodding his head. “Okay. I can do that. So. Breakfast?”

****

*

****

Breakfast was awkward. They stared at each other from their opposite seats in the booth, both fiddling with their silverware.

****

“Okay,” Misha said, slamming his fork down. “See? This was a mistake. It’s weird. This is all weird and wrong, and I don’t want to feel this wrong, Jared. I don’t want you feeling all weird and wrong. You’re all gray and brown and I miss your green, okay? And your blue. My blues and purples aren’t right without them---”

****

Jared had no idea what he was saying, so really the only logical thing to do was to lean over the table and kiss him.  It was probably hasty, and probably rough. It wasn’t at all what Jared expected his first dude-kiss to be like, but to be fair, he hadn’t really put much forethought into it.

****

Misha’s mouth was soft, and wide; that much Jared had known to expect. Nervously, Jared ran his tongue over the seam of Misha’s mouth, before pulling away. “I...sorry. Was that...”

****

“No that was good.” Misha blinked at him. “That uh...I did not see that coming. I didn’t see that coming.”  He repeated. “So that was...I like surprises?”

****

The waitress dropped their plates off. Beneath the table, Jared tangled their ankles together. After that, it wasn’t weird. It wasn’t much different than any other day with Misha, actually.

****

Jared liked that.

****  
*  
  
It was tentative, and at the same time, nearly nothing changed. THere was kissing now, and the boners were far less awkward. They still slept together, but their morning of tangled limbs were no longer swept silently under the proverbial rug. They woke slowly, in a mess of sheets and and bodies, and Jared liked it. Liked everything being gay with Misha apparently changed.   
  
As Misha predicted, his parents took it fairly well. Too well, in fact. As it would seem, Chad had beat him to the punch. When Jared had failed to tell Mama Padalecki more about ‘that nice girl Misha’, Chad had spilled the beans that Misha was infact a dude. Before he could further explain that they were not in fact dating, Mama Padalecki had simply tutted complained she’d have to buy a new christmas gift for Misha because the perfume she bought simply wouldn’t work.   
  
But that was his momma for you.   
  
*  
  
Jared’s ghost made himself present more often, flickering into the room with far more ease than he’d been capable of before. “Yeah I have no idea why,” Misha admitted. “It could be that he’s more aware of this plain of existence. It could be he’s just stronger now. There’s no real way to be sure.”   
  
“It would probably help if I could remember my name, right?” The ghost had asked, perched on Jared’s toilet, as he shaved.   
  
“Couldn’t hurt,” Jared admitted, rinsing his razor under the faucet. He was still getting use to the ghost’s presence, but it grew easier by the day. Misha, on the other hand, found it fascinating, and spent much of his time trying to capture evidence of the ghosts existence. In return, the ghosts spent most of his time dodging Misha’s advances. “But for now, we just have to hope someone recognizes your picture.”   
  
“Em. Martin. No, I don’t look like a Martin. Max? Mark?” He shrugged, and flicked the toothpaste into the sink just because he could. “Tommy though. Tommy I remember. I pushed him out the window.”   
  
Jared paused where he was shaving the soft underside of his throat. “You saved his life.”   
  
The ghost smiled. “Yeah.” He flicked Jared’s toothbrush into the sink next. “I think Misha would totally shove you out the window of a burning building at the expense of himself if he had too.”   
  
Jared swallowed, and nicked himself. “I’d shove him out of a burning building at the expense of myself as well.”   
  
The ghost pushed Jared’s bar of soap into the sink. “So you two haven’t fucked yet.”   
  
Jared flailed, nicking himself again, right on the jaw. “Christ. Seriously? No.”  
  
“What? I’m just saying, you two haven’t fucked yet. I don’t get it. Because I know for a fact, Misha wants to hit that. And you’ve been popping boners like you’re going through puberty. So why haven’t you guys porked? It seems like the thing to do.”   
  
“Because I have a ghost in my house, and he likes to randomly appear in my bedroom,” Jared deadpanned. “Kind of kills the mood.”   
  
“Haha, puns are lame.” the ghost made a face, and then shrugged. “I could disappear for a bit. Give you love birds some privacy.”  
“As kind as that offer is,” Jared said, tapping his razor blade against the sink. “I think I’ll pass. It’ll happen when it happens.”   
  
“You two are waiting to figure my shit out, aren’t you?” Nonchalantly, the ghost kicked the side of his tub, sending all the bottles collected there tumbling down. “You’re waiting to see what’s going to happen to me? If you can help me.”   
  
Unofficially, yes. They hadn’t spoken about it, but he and Misha were in silent agreement that whatever it was they were, whatever was budding between them, would be on the back burner until they helped Michael.   
  
“We just want to help you,” he said, after a fashion. “That’s priority, right now.”   
  
*  
** **

The answer showed up at Jared’s house on a sunny Wednesday afternoon, looking for all the world like he was going to be sick.

****  
“Can I help you?” Jared asked, frowning at the guy on his doorstep. “I’m Jared.”  
  
“I’m Tom,” the man said, taking Jared’s hand into his own, clammy grip. “Tom Welling. My...my wife gave me this flyer. She found it on a post near the animal shelter. She...she recognized the man, in the photo.”   
  
“Tom.” Jared reeled for a moment.  “Tommy?”   
  
The guy let loose a long, pained sound. “Only one person has ever called me that,” he said, in a low voice. “Michael. Mikey. The uh...the guy on your flyers. Michael Rosenbaum. He was my....”   
  
“Husband,” Jared supplied, for lack of a better word. Jared fumbled for his left pocket, where he’d taken to carrying the ghost’s ring. He held it out, letting the bright sunlight glint of the clean metal. “You gave him this on your third anniversary. You’d just moved in here.” Jared knew it was too much; knew he should stop talking. But he couldn’t. Your uncle let you have the place after Michael’s parents turned him out because he told them he was in love with you.”   
  
Tommy choked, taking the ring from Jared’s hand. “You can’t know that. You can’t possibly know that. How?”   
  
“He told me,” Jared said in a rush. “He...I know it’s crazy, but he told me. He’s here. He’s...been here. Since you left.”   
  
Tom sank down on Jared’s couch, ring in hand. “He’s been dead for ten years.”   
  
“Yeah,” Jared said, sitting beside him. He could see Misha hovering in the kitchen archway. “I know this is hard to accept Tom, but...but Michael has...he’s....”  Jared felt it before it happened, the snap-crackle rush in his bones. It still made his head ache, but Michael's regular appearances had dulled the effect. He felt Michael coming minutes before he appeared. “Don’t freak out. Don’t panic. You’ll scare him off.”   
  
** **

“Tommy?”

****

Jared pulled himself up off the couch, and skirted around the room to Misha. They hovered in the archway, with wide, worried eyes.

****

This was it. This was what Michael had been waiting for. This was what They’d all been waiting for.

****

Tom Welling's eye were wide, and maybe a little teary. He lifted his hand, reaching out to Mike who was only feet from him. Tom pulled his hand away, thinking better of it. “Jesus Christ.”

****

Mike smiled. “You use to call me Michael,” he teased, and then leered. “Unless we were fucking; then you called me Oh God.”

****

Tom barked out a nervous laugh, mouth pulling into a smile. “It's really you. I didn't know. I didn't---” he shook his head, clearing his throat. “You've been here all this time.”

****

Mike looked away at that, to the bay window in the living room. “Time passes differently when you're dead.”

****

Tom rose up off the couch like his limbs were being pulled by puppet strings. They gravitated closer, those few feet between them shrinking with every second passed. “It's been ten years. I've been gone ten years.” Tom bit his lip, and at the chain hanging from his neck. He held it up, revealing a little silver band. “I never forgot about you. I think about you every day.”

****

Mike reached out, and touched the ring. It spun between them, swaying. “I didn't even know you left Tommy. I didn't know.” It looked at is if hurt Mike to admit, like forgetting Tom was the worst thing in the world. And maybe it was, too Mike. Tom was his world. “I just...I remember dying, you know? I remember the fire. And then...it's like the next day, it was all gone. And you were there. You got up in the mornings; I turned the coffee pot on for you. Sometimes you lost your car keys, and I'd find them. I pulled the covers down, when you were running late at work. I knew you'd be tired, knew you'd just want to crash. I even drew dirty pictures in on the bathroom mirror when you showered. It was like you never left. It was like I never died. I didn't know I was dead.”

****

Tom's face was wet with fresh tears. “I wasn't here,” Tom whispered. “I was never here.”

****

Mike's expression crumpled, and he closed his eyes. “I know.”

****

Misha cleared his throat, and looked to Tom. “Sometimes, the dead only see what they want to see. When Jared moved in, Michael saw you. It really was like nothing changed. He got stuck in a loop, of sorts. It didn't matter how different your lives were; Michael only saw what he wanted.”

****

“I saw you getting up for work,” Michael said with a sigh. “Coming home. Saw you watching TV, and sleeping. I didn't see Jared's dog, or that he put mushrooms in his omelets. You always hated mushrooms. I didn't see it. And then...and then I did.” He grimaced, shooting Jared an apologetic look. “I didn't know what to do. One minute you were there, and then you were gone. I didn't know where you went. I couldn't get you back. I panicked.”

****

“He didn't handle it well,” Misha said quietly. “Which is understandable. His whole reality had been upturned, and on top of that, he remembered he was dead. He remembered how he died.”

****

Tom sobbed, chin dropping. “That fire---”

****

“Was never your fault.” Mike took another step towards Tom. “I knew you'd be so sad, I knew you'd blame yourself. That's why I came back. I had to know that you were happy. I had to make you happy, because that was my job. It was always my job.”

****

“It's what holds him here,” Misha explained, patient and calm. Jared wasn't sure he could speak himself, without the threat of his voice breaking like a prepubescent boy. He also suspected he was crying. “He can't move on without knowing you're happy.”

****

Mike nodded. “It's all I want; it's all I've ever wanted.” He touched the ring again, where it laid against Tom's chest.

****

Tom laid his hand over the spot Mike had touched, fingers curling over the ring. “I miss you so much. I miss you every day.” Mike flickered, frantic from Tom's tears. “There was never another man. There never could be, after you. But I...I met...”

 

“Someone?” Mike asked, sounding heart-breakingly hopeful. “It's okay. Tom, it's okay. It's what I want. Tell me about her, okay?”

****

“Her name is Jamie,” Tom said quietly. “She's a neo-natal nurse. We got married five years ago. We have....” Tom sucked in a long breath, and dropped his hand to his back pocket, pulling his wallet free. “We have a little boy now. He turned two, just this spring.” He held the picture up for Mike to see. “That's Jamie with him.”

****

“She's hot.” Mike grinned down at the little photo, and touched that too. “Damn, he look just like you. All that hair; I've been dead for ten years, and I'm still jealous of your hair. If I knew I was going to die, I don't think I would have shaved my head on that dare.” He ran a nervous hand over his perpetually bald head, and chuckled. “I'm going to be bald forever.”

****

Tom sobbed, and laughed all at once. “We named him Michael.” He tucked his wallet back into his pocket, and rubbed the tears from his face with the back of his hand. “It was Jamie's idea. If we ever have a girl, she wants to name her Rose.”

****

“Hot and awesome.” Mike laughed, but it was watery at best. “She sounds amazing, Tommy. I really am happy you have her. I wish I could have met her.”

****

Tom didn't even attempt to squelch his tears at that. “She says the same thing about you. Oh God Mike, I miss you so much. Every day.”

****

“But you're happy?”

****

“Yeah,” Tom nodded. “But sometimes I feel guilty, because how could I ever be happy without you? I feel like I'm letting you down; betraying you. I should have died with you; I wished I had, for so long. I just wanted to be with you again.”

****

“No.” The floors shook with the vehemence in Mike's voice. “No, God Tommy, no. Be happy. Be happy every day, okay? It's all I need. Miss me, if you want, but be happy. Love on your baby boy. Get that hot wife of yours to make him a sister. I know you always wanted kids. Just...just be happy for me, okay? Because I can't...I can't imagine a world where your not happy. If you're not happy, I've fucking failed.”

 

“I am happy,” Tom cried, looking down at his feet.

****

Michael bumped his fingers against Tom's chin, making Tom jerk at the cold touch. “Then why are you crying?”

****

“Because you've been here all this time. All alone, and confused, and I wasn't here for you. I should have been.” Tom shook his head. “You didn't...didn't cross over, because of me. I want you to be happy too.”

****

“Oh,” Misha said, so quietly Jared knew neither Mike nor Tom heard. “Oh, oh. I didn't realize. They both needed closure. They both needed it before Mike could move on. Wow.It’s not everyday you see soul mates like that.”

****

“Neither could really move on without knowing the other was okay,” Jared answered in a whisper. “Neither could be happy.”

****

“Are you happy?” Mike asked again, solemnly.

****

Nodding, Tom smiled weakly. “I'm happy if you're happy.”

****

“Then I'm happy.” They stared at each other for a long silent moment, before Mike startled. Holy shit,” he breathed. “Holy shit, it worked. I can see it. Dude, I can see it.”

****

“See what?” Tom asked, spinning around with a bewildered look on his face. “What?”

****

“The light,” Michael said with no little awe. He looked to Jared and Misha. “You were right. It's really there. It came back for me. What do I do?” His expression was comical; thunderstruck and panicked.

 

Misha laughed. “You go in it. To whatever is next.”

****

Mike stared at the light wordlessly. “And that's it?” He asked, voice small like a childs. “Then this is all over?”

****

“It's how it should be,” Misha replied. “It's your time.”

****

“I don't know if I'm ready,” he said, panicked. “I'm not ready. I'm not ready, I can't—-”

****

“Michael,” Tom interrupted him with a patient smile. “I love you.”

****

“Oh.” Mike's mouth fell open, and then he smiled. Smiled so wide, Jared was sure it should have hurt. “I've really missed that.” He nodded sharply, to himself. “Okay. Okay, I'm ready. I can do this.”

****

Mike stepped forward....and then he was gone.

****

“That's it?” Tom asked, looking at the space where Mike had occupied. “He can move on now?”

****

“All he needed was you,” Jared replied, making Misha smile. “Just like all you needed to move on was him. Are you sad he didn't say it back?”

****

Tom looked confused for a moment, before breaking out into a smile. “'I love you'? No, not really. With Mike, it was always sort of implied. Even all these years, I've never not once forgot how much he loved me.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “How is this all real? How do I go home, like this didn't happen? Like I didn't have him back for ten minutes, after ten years? I don't know what to do now. I think I've been hanging on to his memory for so long. And my guilt. I don't want to forget him.”

****

“You'll never forget him,” Misha said with no room for argument. “You do like he said; you go love on your baby, make some more. You remember him every day, and you smile. Keep on, keeping on. If you're happy, he's happy.”

****

A blinding light flashed through the room before Tom could reply, and there was Michael once again. This time, he was dressed in white, and bathed in a translucent gold light. “Dude, look.” He pointed to his head excitedly, and grinned. “Hair!”

****

“Mike,” Tom said, with another sobbed-laugh. “You're not suppose to come back.”

****

“Yeah well I forgot something.” He strode across the livingroom, feet thudding against the floor loudly in a way they never had before. Jared thought he looked more solid now. The notion was made more real by the way he grabbed Tom, and pulled him close.

****

Tom yelped, big blue eyes going wide in his head. “Michael---”

****

Mike didn't give him any time to talk. He pressed their mouths together with familiar ease, sinking his fingers into Tom's hair and holding him close. They kissed like that for what felt like an eternity, and it made both Jared and Misha smile.

****

Pulling back, Mike pressed his mouth to Tom's ear. “I love you, Tommy.”

****

“I know,” Tom laughed, crying again. “Never doubted you.”

****

“Just wanted to say it.” Mike reached up and wiped Tom's tears away with the pad of his thumb. With Tom still wrapped up in his arms, Mike looked to Jared, and his grin turned fond. “Remember what I told you, Jay man. Just go with it. Eat. Fuck. Be merry. But seriously, I’m good now, so you two should bone.”

****

Jared laughed; he'd miss Mike. “Don't you mean eat,dance, and be merry?”

****

“I've seen you dance. Don't dance. Well,” he said, though he looked reluctant to let go of Tom. “I think this is it.”

****

“Wait!” Misha said suddenly, rushing forward. “What's next?”

****

Mike flashed him a wicked grin. “Wish I could say, but I can't. But I can tell you this; Boss Man Upstairs is a big fan of your work. You've got a lot of people up there waiting to thank you. They'll be waiting a while though. ”

 

Kissing Tom once more, just a quick peck that spoke of years of love, Mike stepped away again, and gave them all a jaunty wave. “See y'all on the flip side, mother fuckers.”

****

And just like that, Mike was gone once again.

****

Tom stared at the spot Michael had been for a long time, and Misha and Jared left him to it. “We’re going to be seeing more of him,” Misha assured him, as they stepped into the kitchen. “Speaking of seeing more of each other....”

****

“You see something?” Jared tapped against Misha’s temples.

****

“Oh I’ve seen some things,” Misha assured him, with a lecherous grin. “I don’t know if it ruins the fun, but I already know what you look like naked and coming.”

****

Jared blinked, and tried not to flush. Dammit. “That’s not fair at all.”

****

Misha winked. “Well, I’m all for evening the score.”

****

 

-The End.

****

 

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Sassy Minibang 2012
> 
> Art by evian_fork


End file.
